Off The Grid
by Lattelady
Summary: Bourne and Nicky pairing. What do they really have between them and will Jason ever remember it? SPOILERS FOR ALL THREE MOVIES. Note rating change!
1. A Sin With No Name

**Disclaimer: **Nope, no way, doesn't belong to me.

**Rating: ** PG-13

**Pairing: ** Bourne/Nicky

**Timeframe: **Opens during Supremacy, with references to Identity, by the second chapter it is into Ultimatum and will move beyond.

**AN: **This is all from the movies, and my imagination. No books or deleted scenes used.

**Off The Grid**

By

_Lattelady_

**Ch 1 – A Sin With No Name**

* * *

_It's a sin with a name,_

_Like a hand in the flame _– Dangerous Game – from Jekyll & Hyde

* * *

_Berlin - 2007_

Nicky Parsons jumped as the door slammed shut with a crack that echoed like a gunshot. She was crouched against the cold green wall of a metal storage room under Alexanderplatz Station in Berlin. Her body shook and tears ran down her face. She had known they were dangerous, every one of them, but she'd never in a million years believed that Jason Bourne would hold a gun to her head.

She bit her lip hard to try and get her emotions under control, but it was a battle she couldn't win. For two years she'd locked all her feelings away, now he was back. His warm strength had pressed against her and she'd been surrounded by his scent, but this time he'd been filled with anger and hate. It was too much, too much. She gave in and let huge sobs rack her body.

She hadn't cried when his last mission had gone south and Bourne had disappeared. She'd kept her emotions under tight control when she'd gotten the news that Treadstone was being dismantled. She'd hung on by a thread when Jason had invaded the Safe House and pointed a gun at her from across the room. He'd been lost and confused, his mind broken. Her fear that rainy night had been that he would say or do something in front of Conklin that would give them away.

A small hysterical sob escaped her lips and she clamped two fingers against them. "I didn't realize then. I didn't understand the extent of the damage. Oh Jason, I'm sorry," she cried at how foolish she'd been.

Nicky wrapped her arms around her body and held on tightly. She knew that the signal from the microphone hidden beneath her clothes wasn't transmitting. If it had been, she would have heard gunfire when Bourne had left. Armed men would have rushed in and the room would have been filled with chaos as they pulled her through the door that led to the outside world. For the moment, she was safe, in a hidden place, off the grid, and could give vent to years of pent up grief, before she had to face Pamela Landy and Ward Abbott.

She didn't know how long she sat crying, but exhaustion finally began to take the pain away. Her eyelids grew heavy and if it hadn't been for the cold dampness that seeped through her coat, she would have fallen asleep. Gripping the handrail, she pulled herself stiffly to her feet. Nicky didn't need to check the small mirror in her purse, she knew her make-up had long since been washed away and there would be no hiding red puffy eyes that told their own story.

The last thing she did before she opened the door was reach under her coat and sweater to pull off the tiny microphone attached to her bra. After burying it deep in her handbag, she rewrapped her scarf and walked carefully back into the world of death and deception.

* * *

"Tom, what's the name of that hotel?" Pamela Landy turned to her assistant as he hung up the phone.

"Hotel Breker, they say Bourne checked in there about half an hour ago." Cronin was quickly writing down the address as he spoke to his boss.

Landy looked around for Ward Abbott and his assistant Danny Zorn, but they were nowhere to be found. "Great," she muttered. "All right people, we've got him. Let's go." As she grabbed her coat, the elevator doors opened and Nicky Parsons moved sluggishly into the hall and pushed open the glass doors that separated them. "Thank God, Nicky." She didn't have to tell Tom to call off the search for the missing agent. She could hear him giving the orders in the background. "Are you all right? Did Bourne hurt you?"

"I'm fine, fine." The girl's voice was flat as if each word was an effort. "He didn't harm me."

"We've found him and are headed there now." Landy moved quickly to the elevator impatiently dragging Nicky with her.

"You have to know, he didn't…" She was cut off as Pam tightened her hold on her arm and pulled the startled girl away from the crowd of agents gathering for the kill.

"We already know, we heard." The older woman studied the younger one carefully.

"You heard?" Nicky began to tremble, if they'd heard her breakdown, what else did they hear? What game were they playing with her?

"Well, we heard he claimed to be thousands of miles away. I've got people checking his story. Do you have more to add to that?" Landy probed.

"Pam, the elevator is here," her assistant called out. Parsons eyes fluttered closed. The momentary distraction gave her a chance to think before she responded, but she was tired and unsure of whom to trust or how much they already knew.

"Hold it for me, damnit! I'll be right there." The task force chief was frustrated. Too much was happening at once and suddenly her priorities weren't as clear as they had been. It was obvious the girl knew something and was leery of speaking openly about it. But they finally knew where Bourne was hiding and no matter what; she didn't want to let him get away again. "Nicky…"

"Yes…" She jumped. The warmth in the hall had wrapped her in a cocoon and was making her sleepy, slowing her reaction time. "You're…I think…you're hunting the wrong man. He insisted he was in India when your men were killed…and…he…he…kept asking about Berlin from years ago...but he never worked in Ber-"

"Nicky, listen to me," Pam demanded as she cut her off. "Go to your room and wait for me there. Get some sleep if you can. You look like hell." Hammering the exhausted girl with questions was wasting precious time. "You aren't to talk with anyone until I've debriefed you, not anyone." The glazed look in the girl's eyes was sending off warning bells. "Nicky, did you hear me?"

"Yes, sorry Ma'am." She forced a smile on her face and hoped she looked more normal than she felt. "Only you, I'm not to talk..."

"That means no one," she emphasized each word. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes, I think I do." For the first time all day Nicky felt some hope. Maybe there was one other person who believed that Jason Bourne hadn't killed the two men who had been trying to buy information in Berlin a week earlier.

"Can you make it back to the hotel by yourself, or should I send one of the local staff with you?" A small part of the senior agent was wondering if she should send someone to keep a discreet surveillance on Parsons. Something was very wrong.

"No, no Ma'am, I'm fine, just cold and…tired. I'll take a cab. I don't need looking after."

Landy nodded still unconvinced that more hadn't transpired at Alexanderplatz station then Nicky was letting on.

"Good-luck…" Parsons called out as the elevator doors closed. "…Jason," she added in a whisper and then said a silent pray that he was as careful and prepared as he always used to be.

* * *

Nicky stood under a hot shower and let the water beat down on the top of her head. They had pulled her out of Amsterdam so fast she hadn't had a chance to pick-up the small overnight bag she always kept packed and hidden in the back of her closet for just such emergencies. She'd made a quick stop in the gift shop upon returning to the hotel and purchased a few necessities. Now she didn't have to sleep naked in a cold city and when she woke she'd have a change of underclothes.

She was too exhausted to think straight. She'd been riding an adrenaline high since Landy and Abbott had shown up outside her office twelve hours earlier. The second she'd seen Ward, she'd known that she was finally face to face with her worst fears.

On autopilot she dried her hair, ripped open the package containing a pair of draw-string sleep pants and a tank top. She'd chosen the outfit quickly. Her only thought being how easily she would be able to run wearing it. "Yeah, but where the hell am I going to run, dressed in this? It's winter in Berlin!" she muttered as she checked to be sure she had a full clip in her weapon.

The cool weight of the Glock was familiar in her hand, but it hadn't always been. She'd been able to shoot well enough to pass the CIA's basic course, but she had never intended to learn more than that. It was Jason Bourne who had insisted that she improve her skills.

Nicky stood unmoving in a cold hotel room in Berlin and remembered an early morning in Paris almost four years ago.

* * *

_Paris - 2003_

The sun was just coming up and Nicky Parsons was running her usual four mile path

when Jason Bourne moved quickly past her. He was focused on his work-out, his arms pumping as his steps tore up the ground. The next thing she knew he put on more speed and disappeared around the next bend. It wasn't the first time in the twelve months since she'd taken her post with Treadstone that she'd seen him out and about the city. Like all those other times, he had given no indication that he knew her, though she was sure he could describe in complete detail everyone around him.

An hour and a half later Nicky was in her office at the Safe House, going through the morning correspondences, when something made her look up. She jumped, caught off guard. Jason was standing on the other side of her desk.

"What are you doing here?" her voice squeaked slightly, but she picked up steam as anger replaced fear. "And how the hell did you get in?"

"I'm pretty good with locks and disabling security equipment." It was an understatement and they both knew it. "Besides I've got an appointment, remember."

"You're not due for another twenty-five minutes. Next time please…."

"If I'd waited these would have gotten cold." He dropped a sack of warm baguettes on her desk and handed her a steaming latte.

"How did you know…?" The boulangerie next door had been closed when Nicky arrived half an hour ago. Madam Dupree usually opened early, but today the elderly lady was running late.

"Along with my other talents, I'm also observant." He grinned and sat in the chair across from her as he reached into the bag and pulled out a warm toasted slice of French bread.

"I guess you are," she laughed. Bourne had had an appointment with her every four weeks for the last year. She was sure that during any number of those visits there had been a latte and a half eaten baguette sitting on her desk. "Thank you for bringing me breakfast.

"You're welcome. I figured you'd be hungry after your run. You've got good form," he acknowledged and bit off an edge of his baguette

"Thank-you…ahh so do you." Her brows beetled over dark eyes as she tried to figure out what was happening. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that they run together sometime, when she remembered exactly who she was speaking to. "Have you been watching me?"

"No, I'm sorry I didn't mean to frighten you." His eyes clouded and he frowned.

"You didn't frighten me. I was surprised that you'd acknowledge having seen me outside of here." It bothered her on a level she'd never admit. She'd always thought Jason was attractive and she'd had to work hard to think of him only as a colleague.

"We live in the same city. On the surface Paris seems large and crowded, but in many ways it's very small." He shrugged. "Especially when people have things in common, like this office and the reason for it. You'll discover it's that way with all of Europe."

"That puts a new perspective on the situation, when you think about it that way." She smiled gently and changed the subject. They had things to do and she was sure he had more important places to be. "Now we need to get down to business. Any trouble with headaches since we met last?" she asked with as much professional detachment as she could muster. It took them twenty minutes to go through the usual list of questions.

"That about does it." Parsons looked up at the man across from her. "It sounds like you've had a good four weeks."

"I've got a question," he looked her straight in the eyes and sounded grim.

"Sure, anything I can do to help." She watched him expectantly.

"What would you have done if I'd had a gun in my hand instead of a bakery bag when I came in here this morning?" It had bothered him ever since he'd broken in and she hadn't done anything to protect herself.

"I guess I would have died." She paled, caught completely off guard. "Basic CIA training isn't a match for yours."

"No, no it's not." He didn't like frightening her, but she needed to know the truth. "You're too vulnerable the way you are. I'm surprised Conklin didn't make sure you were more proficient with a weapon before leaving you alone here."

"It still wouldn't be enough…" She shook her head not wanting to think about what would happen if any of the Treadstone men, who she watched so carefully, decided she knew too much about them.

"After the first three seconds no, but it's those seconds that usually decide the outcome. If you add in the element of surprise, it could tip the balance in your favor." He stepped quickly around her desk and opened the top drawer. "Where the hell do you keep your weapon?"

"In my field box, exactly where I'm supposed to keep it." She was getting angry. Who did he think he was? First he frightened her and then he tried to boss her around?

"It's not good enough." He glared at her. "Do you even keep it loaded?"

"Of course I do." She stood quickly and gripped him by the shoulders in an attempt to get his full attention. "Jason, you have to remember our jobs are very different."

"True, but they're intertwined. What I do can affect you and your ability to do your work affects me. You think I'm being paranoid, don't you?" He saw her eyes fill with doubt that she wasn't quick enough to hide. "You think this goes along with the headaches, and all the other symptoms you've been monitoring?"

"It had crossed my mind." Nicky knew that all of her charges were very careful about their surroundings. She'd seen it happen over and over. Each time any of them would enter a room, they would quickly scan it to identify all the doors and windows. Check to see if anything had been moved since the last time they were there. She was sure Jason knew where every potential weapon was in her office, which was the deadliest and which could be reached the quickest.

"Being careful is what has kept me alive." He met her steady gaze and hoped she understood. Did she even have a clue that sometimes the CIA hunted its own? "I'm trying to do the same for you."

"Why?" she whispered. It was the second time that morning he'd stepped past the careful professional barrier they'd built between them.

"Because for the last eighteen months you've kept me healthy." There was more, but he wasn't about to explain it to her. He'd been part of Treadstone before she came aboard and he knew that she treated the agents differently. He'd heard her fight with Conklin on one occasion. The boss wanted his men to be nothing more than automatic killers, Parsons had argued that in order to keep their cover and their sanity, they needed to be human beings as well. For that, alone, he felt he owed her his life.

"Oh, oh, all right then." It hadn't been the answer she expected. And from the cool look on Bourne's face, she wondered if there wasn't something more to it. "What did you have in mind?"

* * *

That was how it started. Jason and Nicky met the following Saturday and snuck into the countryside. He gave her a Glock 9mm Compact that was unnumbered and untraceable. It had a smaller grip and was lighter than the standard issue Glock the CIA had given her. They spent hours at an old farmhouse, kilometers from the city, improving her skills.

All the time she was shooting, he talked. He talked about pull weights, wind sheer, and lines of sight. He talked about the need for secrecy, hiding, policing her brass so the gun could never be traced and the necessity of weekly practice that no one would know about, especially Alexander Conklin.

"One more time, Nicky," his voice was hard, and emotionless as he pushed her. "I know you're cold and tired. Your arm hurts and your head is about to explode, but this is when it is most important to be able to hit what you aim at."

"I can't do this any more!" she screamed at him in frustration. All the information he'd given her swam together in her mind until nothing made sense. Thick clouds, that had been building all afternoon, chose that moment to open up and cold rain pelted them.

"Yes you can!" He gripped her shoulders and turned her toward the target refusing to give into the angry woman or the weather.

Tears mixed with rain and filled Nicky's dark eyes as she took aim. The lines of the target blurred and refused to take shape. With determination she bit down on her anger and supported the smooth deadly gift Jason had given her with both hands.

"Now! Do it now!" he harangued from behind her.

Her anger slipped its leash and she gave a harsh gasp from deep in her throat as she pictured Jason Bourne's face in place of the target. Without thinking she pulled the trigger once, twice, and a third time.

"Oh my God," she moaned as she realized what she'd done. Her knees buckled and she would have fallen, but Jason was quicker than she was. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her tightly against him as his other hand reached for the weapon.

"Easy there," he murmured in her ear while he pulled the Glock from her limp fingers. Once it was slipped securely against the small of his back, he picked her up and carried her into the farmhouse.

The old living room smelled musty, as if it hadn't been used in months. Jason pulled a dustcover off one of the overstuffed chairs and carefully put Nicky down. Kneeling he set a match to the pile of dry kindling in the fireplace. Once that caught he slowly added larger pieces of wood until he had a roaring fire. "Wait here, I'll be right back."

She hadn't moved when he returned with the spent casings and bullets he'd dug out of the old tree behind the target he'd hung. He could see her shivering beneath her jeans, turtleneck sweater and quilted vest.

"You should have let me help you gather up the mess I left behind." Nicky's voice was hoarse and muffled because her face was still buried in her hands.

"No, I pushed you too hard. I'm sorry, but it could be important, it could save your life." He knelt by her chair and caught his fingers in her hair at her temple. "Please, look at me."

"It wasn't you," she gasped as she slowly lifted her gaze to meet his. "I…I…was angry…I looked at the target and saw you…that's when I pulled the trigger," her words became a whisper as she spoke the last. She gently stroked his left cheek and brow.

Jason felt something break loose inside of him. In his attempt to help her protect herself, he'd pushed her until she'd brushed up against the dark being that lived inside of him. "That's all right. Use whatever you have to. If you can make your anger work for you, you're that much ahead."

"It hurt," she gasped and slipped off the chair to kneel closer to him. Suddenly she was aware of his desire pressing against her belly. Her eyes widened and she couldn't catch her breath.

"Hurt is better than dead." He pulled back so their bodies were no longer touching, but she gripped his sweater to keep him where he was.

"Jason," she whispered as she trembled.

"It's only adrenaline, it'll pass." He'd seen her pupils dilate and her nostrils flair and knew exactly what she was feeling.

"No, it's not," her words were husky with feelings and they made his head swim. "I've been attracted to you for a long time."

"All the more reason it would be a mistake." He tried to sound harsh, but he'd wanted her from the first moment he'd seen her and she wasn't making this easy on him.

"Yeah, it would be, but don't you ever make mistakes?" She bit the side of her lower lip and let is slip between her teeth nervously.

"Not until today!" he gasped. Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and pulled her mouth to his. He rolled them to the floor pressing his body into hers. He moved roughly against her in an attempt to frighten her away, but she met each hard touch with gentle caresses that made his skin burn, until he was as lost as she was.

His last coherent thought as he stripped her sweater from her body and pulled her jeans over her slim hips was that if this had to happen, at least he'd chosen well, they were safe, in a hidden place, off the grid.

* * *

_Berlin 2007_

Nicky moaned as desire shook her. She blinked her eyes and realized that she'd been standing beside her bed with the Glock he'd given her held tightly in her fist. It had been a mistake to remember. She wasn't safe, she wasn't hidden. Once she was, she could indulge in all the memories of her eighteen month affair with Jason that she liked.

She carefully popped the clip out of her weapon, checked it and put it back in place. What she needed most of all was sleep. Then maybe she could keep her mind out of the past.


	2. It's A Dangerous Game

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1

_**Ch 2 – It's A Dangerous Game**_

* * *

_And our senses proclaim,_

_It's a dangerous Game _– Dangerous Game – From Jekyll & Hyde

* * *

_Berlin - 2007_

Pam Landy walked tiredly down the hall of the Berlin Westin. Lies and death had been the norm over the last few days and she was exhausted. The taped conversation between Ward Abbott and Jason Bourne was tucked safely in her pocket. She'd written and filed her preliminary report, but the final was a long way from being finished. All she wanted was to go to her room and crawl into bed, but she'd left one stone unturned in this mess. Until that was taken care of, she couldn't recommend closing the file on Treadstone. She had a cup of strong coffee in each hand. Her coat was slung over one arm and her handbag dangled from her left shoulder. When she arrived at Nicky Parson's door, her purse slammed against the knob, as she juggled her load in an attempt to knock.

"Who is it?" a sleepy voice called out. Someone was outside her room and their movements had woken her from a sound sleep. She grabbed her 9mm Glock Compact from under her pillow, locked the clip into place and rolled lightly to the floor on the far side of her bed.

"It's Pam Landy, my hands are full. Can you let me in before I drop something?"

"Coming," Parsons answered. She picked up her hairbrush and wrapped it quickly in a pillowcase before tossing it at the deadbolt lock. With her arms over her head, she hugged the floor, her gun clenched tightly in her fist. The large bed was her best cover, if the older woman had a hunting team in tow. When weapon's fire didn't fill the air, she felt safer, but was still careful as she walked quietly across the room to check through the peephole.

"What the hell was that all about?" Landy looked from the girl to the brush that had spilled out of the white casing, once she was allowed entrance to the room.

"I'm just being careful." Parsons shrugged.

"Bourne really frightened you tonight, didn't he?" She raised a brow at the Glock still securely in the other woman's hand.

"I've been afraid for over two years, ever since Treadstone went up in smoke, tonight just upped the ante." She dodged the question as she double checked the curtains to be sure they were tightly closed and then lit lamps on her desk and nightstand. She might only be a 'handler' with the CIA, but Jason had taught her a few tricks about staying alive. "Everyone involved with that operation seems to be dying." She rubbed the back of her neck trying to get rid of the tingling she'd felt since her life had crashed down around her, in Paris, forever ago.

"Not quite everyone. Bourne was on a train that left here, for Moscow, three hours ago."

"Oh…" Nicky was filled with relief, but she was afraid to move or speak for fear it would show.

"How about putting that thing down?" Landy pointed toward the Glock and held out a cup of coffee. "We need to talk."

"Ah…sure…sorry…" But she hesitated; looking deep into Pam's eyes trying to read her intent.

"Conklin trained you well." Pamela offered a smile as she read the girl's doubts.

Nicky shrugged, but didn't respond. She realized Jason had been correct four years earlier. Without the element of surprise, she was no match for a woman who had spent years in the field. Tentatively, she took the coffee and placed her weapon on a table within easy reach as she sat and tried to appear nonchalant. If things turned ugly, she didn't plan on going down without a fight.

"Now tell me, what happened at Alexanderplatz Station?"

With a sigh she began talking. She knew that Landy was only interested in the facts about Bourne and that was all she told her. What had come before, in Paris, wasn't important. She drank her coffee and carefully told the older woman everything that had transpired, including her loss of control, but not the reason behind it. By the time she was finished, both woman had empty cups and the sun was coming up on a cold Berlin morning.

"I appreciate the information. It corroborates this." Pam pulled a small tape recorder out of her pocket and placed it on the table between them. "Ward Abbott is dead, by the way."

"Did Jason…" Nicky gasped as her eyes flicked between the recorder and Landy.

"No, Ward shot himself. Listen and you'll understand why." She pressed the small 'play' button on the recorder and the silence between them was filled with harsh male voices. First Abbott was demanding help from an unknown source, then he was taunting Bourne with Marie's death and finally he dared the younger man to kill him.

"_It's what you are, Jason, a killer. You always will be. Go on, do it, do it!"_

Nicky held her breath waiting for the sound of a gun blast that never come.

"_She wouldn't want me to, that's the only reason you're alive."_ And then there was nothing on the recorder but silence.

"The girl, Marie, is it true?" She could hear Jason's anguished words echoing in her ears and gripped her coffee cup to keep her fingers from trembling.

"Yes," Pamela sighed as she turned off the small machine between them and returned it to her pocket. "Marie Kreutz died of a gun shot wound to the head six days ago. Her body was found in a river in Goa, India."

"He meant it, you know. That's what brought him back. He'd still be in hiding, off the grid…if…well…" Nicky's voice broke. Jason had used that same expression with her when they'd hidden their affair from prying eyes. They'd both known that they hadn't really been off the grid, just blocked for the moment, but it had been so sweet to pretend. "He loved her…Marie…or…as close to it as he was capable of feeling when he lived in a world he couldn't remember and didn't trust." It hurt her more than she thought possible to say the words she knew to be true. But she'd heard the evidence and it was breaking her heart.

"You knew him the best of anyone who is left alive." Landy gazed at Parsons and wondered what was going on in her head. The girl had responded strangely to the tape. "Do you think he's through? Has he gotten his revenge?"

"I…ah…" She shook her head to clear it, but it was hard to stay in control. A small part of her wondered how many more times she'd let Jason Bourne hurt her, before she'd learned her lesson. "I…want to say yes, if for no other reason than…ah…well…there is no one left to kill."

"Humph," the sound came from deep in the section chief's throat. Who indeed, she thought. One thing she'd learned over the years was that there was always another layer. The question in her mind was did Jason know that. "Thank you very much, Nicky, you've been a help." She got up and headed toward the door, knowing she'd learned all she was going to from this source.

"Wait…" the tired girl called out. "One of the problems in dealing with Bourne is that we never learned what caused his amnesia."

"What do you mean?" Pam focused on this new tidbit but was unsure of its relevance.

"There is usually a physical or psychological reason for amnesia. It's obvious, from what we've learned in the last two years, that he was injured escaping from Wombosi's yacht. But there is no way of telling if he received sufficient head trauma to damage his memory. It's just as obvious, though I can't prove it, that his training involved manipulation of his psyche. Mix those two together and it's no wonder he broke." Tears filled her eyes and she blinked quickly to keep them from falling. "I'm just saying, let him go. We've done enough harm to him already. I…I…should have seen it. It was my job, but I didn't see any of it coming. Please, just let him go. I don't think you'll ever hear from him again."

"I'd like nothing better than to close the book on Treadstone, but I don't have the final say." The senior agent's words made Parsons' neck begin to tingle, all over again.

* * *

After Pam went to her room, Nicky sat staring into space. He had gotten away! Joy sliced through her and lightened the pain she'd been feeling, and couldn't express, when she'd been being watched so carefully. But her happiness was fleeting as her old guilt returned to haunt her.

"Jason," she whispered. "What happened to you? What started all of this and how did I miss it?" Unbidden her mind slipped back to that last morning in Paris, before he left for Marseille. The last time he saw her and remembered who she was.

* * *

_Paris - 2005_

When Jason slid out of bed, the loss of his body heat wakened her, but she didn't want to let it show. If she kept her eyes closed for a few more minutes, maybe she could prevent morning from coming and they'd be hidden by the darkness, off the grid, for a little while longer. When she heard him moving around in the kitchen, she rolled onto her stomach and buried her face against his pillow. Her long blonde hair fell across her cheek and beyond.

Moments later she heard his quiet footsteps as he entered the bedroom. She knew if she looked up, she'd see him watching her. "Jason," her voice was groggy as she reached across the space that separated them.

"Time to wake-up." He rested one knee on the mattress and caressed her naked back.

"You have wonderful hands," she sighed and arched into his touch.

"We have to talk." He frowned, unsure of what he was feeling. He'd deliberately gotten up an hour earlier than usual. They'd talk and then if there was time…

"I know, I'm sorry…we agreed…" Nicky turned over and pulled the sheet to her chin as she interlocked his fingers with hers. This was always the hardest part. The affair they'd started casually eighteen months earlier had become much more for her. She'd fallen in love with him.

"As I told you last night, I'll be gone for a while." He pulled her into his arms and leaned against the headboard. Only the sheet, which covered her and his pajama bottoms, separated her silky pale skin from his warm hard body. "I can't give you details, you already know too much."

Eight weeks earlier he'd received an encrypted message directly from Conklin. It was odd, but not unheard of. Twice before, he'd received his orders from their boss instead of the Treadstone handler, but that had been before Nicky had the job. Since being assigned his latest mission he'd been in and out of Paris taking care of details. He didn't doubt that she knew something big was going down, but she'd never said or done anything that might compromise either of them.

"I understand," she whispered, though she didn't really. Always before she'd felt part of his missions, but this time it was different. This time it was something so secret, it had by-passed her. She assumed it came directly from Langley.

"I hope you don't! The less you know, the safer you are," his voice was rough with worry. He hated that she knew anything. It could mean her life if anyone found out she had any knowledge of his life, beyond what was necessary for her to do her job. It was one of the main reasons he'd insisted on keeping their affair a secret.

"I understand that we need to be separate for a while." Her cheek rested on his chest and she listened to the steady rhythm of his heart under her ear. She concentrated on the soothing sound instead of the worry she'd been fighting ever since it became apparent she had been left out of the loop.

"You shouldn't even know that much." He was always like this before he went on a mission. She'd come to recognize it as one of his compulsions and knew it did him the most good if she listened and agreed. The tears would come later, when he was gone.

"Remember everything I've taught you." He tilted her face upward and kissed her gently. "You're almost as good at doctoring a cell phone as I am." It was one of their first precautions. Whenever they were together, they left their cells at home. Each carried a prepaid phone that was free of the GPS identifiers that were present in theirs. He'd taught her to rewire the toss-away versions so they could receive their calls and it appeared as if they were using the ones provided by the CIA.

"What are the rules of living off the grid?" he asked as he unconsciously raked his left hand down the length of her hair. The reparative movement calmed him as they talked.

"Your habits will get you killed. Never do anything that you would normally do in the life you lead now. Keep it simple. If it doesn't feel right it probably isn't." She raised her head and looked at him carefully. This was new. He usually recited the lists of safeguards he'd been preaching since that first day he'd given her weapon's training. He'd never asked her to repeat back the carefully learned lessons before.

"What are the rules when using your weapon?"

"Always be careful." She stroked his chest so she'd never forget the feel of his skin in the early morning. "When practicing, police my brass. If it's the real thing, don't think, just shoot and then wipe my prints and leave it behind because once it's used, there will be a record of its existence." The Glock was the only memento she had from him. There were no pictures, or ticket stubs, nothing to give testimony to them. Nicky knew leaving the 9mm Compact behind would be almost as hard as having to use it to take a life.

"You have your Swiss account memorized?" He grinned as he asked the question. He was talking to a woman whose memory was better than his. He'd always used the safeguard of a sub-dermal information capsule.

"I think I've got that one covered," she laughed and poked him in the ribs.

"So ya wanna pick a fight, do ya?" He rolled her beneath him in one swift move. It made her realize how easily he could overpower her, but she knew to the depth of her being that he'd never hurt her.

"No, please don't' tickle me," she shrieked as he ran his hands under the sheet and lightly along her sides.

"What will ya give me to make me stop?"

"A kiss," she offered unable to take her eyes off his mouth. This was different too, this play on a morning before a mission. Usually he was serious and withdrawn, focused on what was to come.

"A kiss would do nicely, for starters," Jason's words poured over her like warm honey as their lips met and he gently nibbled. When Nicky tried to deepen the kiss he chuckled lightly, chiding, "You're in such a rush."

He was rewarded by her quickened breath and dark eyes that dilated until they were almost black.

"I want you," her words were husky and halting as she stretched to kiss his neck on the sensitive spot below his right ear. He'd started this and, mission or no mission, she hoped to God he planned on finishing it.

"I'm right here!" He wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer, and cupped her head in his other hand, as his mouth took full possession of hers. A deep groan vibrated against her lips as their tongues met.

Her hands moved along the hard muscles of his back, memorizing the contour and shape of him as she had memorized his taste and smell. They'd learned to live in the moment and this one moment was all she might have left of him. She planned to take as much as he was willing to give.

Catching her by surprise, he growled fiercely and pulled the sheet out from between them. Her naked body pressed against his partially clad one. His hands and lips explored territory he knew well.

When she reached for his pajama bottoms he grasped her hands and pinned them to the bed. "Please," she moaned. "Please, Jason, now," her words were breathy and out of control.

"I want to watch you in the morning light," he whispered as he threw his one leg over both of hers, locking them in place. His lips moved from one breasts to the other while his left hand kept her wrists on the mattress above her head and his right one moved longingly over her hip and between her thighs.

"Ohhh," she gasped at his touch and arched against him. He was doing wild wonderful things to her body and she had to clench her teeth to keep from screaming out how much she loved him.

"Yes, that's it, Babe, that's it," he encouraged as he nibbled and touched her. Intense longing throbbed in his blood, and made his eyes molten blue, but he had a greater need to watch as she unraveled for him. He smiled as perspiration dampened her chest and her half-closed eyes grew wild with desire and deep emotion.

"Jason," his name was a high-pitched whisper that caught in her throat when his tongue slid down her abdomen and circled in her navel, as his nimble fingers moved between her thighs.

"Let go, Nicolette, I've got you. Let go!" His eyes bore into hers demanding that she obey. Then he quickly took her right nipple in his teeth and gently nipped her.

He watched as her body bowed and her mouth fell open in a silent scream. He felt the intensity of her explosion as she jerked beneath him. Without moving away from her, he quickly rid himself of his pajama bottom and wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

"Oh, God!" she cried as she held on tightly to him. Her world and her senses were spinning and her mind was shouting, 'I love you, I love you, I love you….' Only the fact that she had her mouth pressed tightly against his neck kept her from giving voice to her deepest feelings.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured then thrust into her as she wrapped her legs around his waist and followed him on another wild journey.

Jason Bourne the observant man had seen everything as Nicky fell apart beneath his skillful hands and mouth. He'd seen it once again when they'd shattered and slowly reformed in each other's arms. The words might never be spoken between them, but he knew them as surely as if they had both shouted them from the rooftops. He would take them with him wherever he went, because the memory of them and this woman would keep him sane through all of his dark deeds.

* * *

A few minutes later she walked into the kitchen dressed in her running clothes, but there would be no work-out that morning, it was getting late and she'd be lucky to make it to the Safe House on time.

"Do you want coffee before you go?" He looked up from his breakfast. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes still glowed from making love. He put his elbows on either side of his plate, clasped his hands and rested his chin on his fists. He watched her move hesitantly across his kitchen and remembered the fire that had leapt between them less than ten minutes earlier. He was a man who never did anything by chance. He'd planned the extra time that morning and had gained more from it than he'd ever imagined.

"I don't have the time." Nicky looked around his fabulous kitchen. Unlike most of the rest of his apartment, this one room wasn't spartan and bare. They'd spent countless hours together preparing meals, eating, and even making love here. It was a room where they could just be them. They were free to laugh and live as two normal people. On one memorable evening they'd even danced on the wide expanse of floor. This room held all their secrets.

"Remember all I've taught you." He was solemn and quiet and it made her feel better. This was the usual Jason Bourne just before a mission.

"I will." She stood on her toes and kissed him as she always did when they parted in private. Her greatest fear was that someday he wouldn't come home and she wouldn't have kissed him good-bye before he left. "Jason—"

"I can't tell you anything!" he snapped.

"I know, I'm not asking, I never would." She looked at the hard cold man he'd become in a matter of seconds. "But…I mean if you ever have to…to…go away." Suddenly she knew that was how it was going to be someday. He would get transferred and just disappear from her life. "I'm not asking that you…well…compromise anything, just please don't let me think you're de…" She couldn't say the word, not when he was going on a mission and could very well die. Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She turned quickly, and would have run from the room if he hadn't thrown his arms around her and pulled her close.

"Hush, Nicolette, I've got you," he whispered as he stroked her hair and face. They couldn't go on leading this double life. It was tearing her apart and he wasn't fairing much better. He was beginning to want things a man in his line of work could never have. It was causing doubts and making him soft. He was even questioning his training. Always before he was glad he couldn't remember who he was before Treadstone. That changed when he realized he'd come to love Nicky Parsons and, against all odds, she loved him in return. He couldn't afford thoughts like that just before a mission, so again the words remained unspoken between them.

An hour later he locked his apartment door and headed out of Paris. He was on his way to deal death one last time. Once Wombosi was a distant memory, his life was going to change. He and Nicky were going to have to do some careful planning. The next time they went off the grid, it was going to be for real and forever. She'd become too important to him to leave to chance or behind.

* * *

Seven days later, he was officially missing. Three weeks later, she saw him again, but thousands of lost memories and the gun he held pointed in her direction separated them. He looked at her with wild eyes, which lacked recognition. His memory was gone and so was he. Then she didn't see him again for two years.

* * *

_Berlin - 2007_

The phone ringing beside her bed pulled her back from the past. She had to stop remembering. Each time it brought tears to her eyes and made her helpless. With quick steps she grabbed the phone and took the call from the concierge, confirming her flight to Amsterdam.

She was tired and hungry and more confused than she'd been in her entire life. Everything had changed in those few short minutes locked in a storage closet under Alexanderplatz Station with Jason Bourne. He had gotten on with his life. She needed to do so as well.

Nicky fought the inner voice that told her to run as fast and far as she could. It wasn't the smart thing to do. She needed information. When the time was right she'd know it and then she'd drop off the grid forever. She'd had an excellent teacher that no one knew about. She snorted bitterly at the irony that even he had forgotten.

* * *

While Parsons and Landy had been talking, Noah Vosen sat in his office in New York City at the CIA's Deep Cover Anti-Terrorism Bureau and read the reports that had been coming in from Berlin over the last few hours. He got up and locked his door and then opened his safe. After taking some time to study all the files he had on Treadstone, he dialed a secure private line to Langley, Virginia.

"Kramer, here," CIA Director Ezra Kramer murmured into the phone.

"Ezra, it's Noah." Vosen sketched out the details of what was known to have happened in Berlin and the rumors that were coming out of Moscow.

"What are our liabilities?" the Director asked and wished for the millionth time he hadn't given up smoking.

"I've just checked, and with the one exception, all the Treadstone assets are dead. Manheim who was stationed in Hamburg died in an auto accident on his way home from his last mission, in Paris, two years ago." Noah's research led to the conclusion that Ward Abbott had had the man terminated. He'd dug a bit deeper and discovered it was because Abbott had used him to assassinate Alexander Conklin. There was a brief footnote on the file that indicated Manheim was the first kill credited to Blackbrier. "Bourne took out Günter in Munich yesterday."

"It seems he hadn't lost any of his skills." It was unexpected. Someone who had been in hiding for over two years shouldn't have had the ability to take out an active contract agent who had equal and current training.

"Ezra, I don't doubt for a minute the man is dangerous, but I'm not sure how much of a liability he to us. It's clear from the transcript of Abbott's tape that Bourne still has amnesia. Even if his memory returned, he's been unstable for too long to have any credibility." In New York the deputy director looked out at the night sky. He'd been manipulating his boss for years and knew exactly when to come on strong and when to pull back in order to get the response he wanted.

"I want him dead." Kramer didn't like loose ends. Credible or not, the man could come back to haunt them.

"I agree. It would be our wisest course of action." He smiled at his reflection in his window high above the city. This was getting too easy. Lately Ezra Kramer was taking all the challenge out of the power game.

"Who else is there?" Things were getting too complicated. Ezra had always believed that the only way to keep a secret was to tell no one. Before this was finished he planned on being the only person alive who knew anything of substance about Treadstone.

"Dr. Albert Hirsch is here in New York and Neal Daniels in Spain. Hirsch has as much to lose as we do if this comes to light." Vosen dug through his files to verify information before he went on.

"What about the girl, the handler?" the Director questioned. "What's her story?"

"Nicolette Parsons," Noah provided her name. "She's 28, no family, father unknown, mother died in 2000. It says here an aneurism. The girl has been with us for five years. Conklin recruited her when she graduated from Columbia with a master's degree in forensics psychology."

"Kinda young for that, wasn't she?" He quickly did the math and it didn't add up.

"According to her file she has an eidetic memory and a facility for languages. There's a notation here that she skipped some grades, along the way, but it doesn't say which ones." Vosen paged though her file trying to find out exactly why she'd been chosen when older more experienced personnel were available. "Ahhh…here it is," he muttered. "Her thesis was titled 'The Killer Among Us – The Normal Life Of A Professional Assassin'."

"It sounds like she would have been exactly what Alex was lookin' for, bright, no prior loyalties, a background in psychology, and no relatives too ask any questions if she disappeared. That paper of hers would have been the hook that made him bite." Kramer knew that something didn't feel right, and he couldn't put his finger on it. "The age thing still bothers me."

"Conklin used that to his advantage. Her cover was an American student in Paris. Her first three years were spent there with Treadstone. She was Bourne's contact and monitored all the men's mental health." Noah leaned back in his chair and quickly read over the details of those final days in Paris, two years ago. "Shit," he muttered.

"Don't tell me she was the same one who was at the Safe House that last night?" The Director ground his teeth. It was a useless question. No one else could have been there and it would have been her job to help dismantle the Treadstone Hub. The knowledge didn't help to silence the warning bell that was going off in his head.

"She was," Vosen whispered and waited for the inevitable explosion on the other end of the line.

"God damnit, how the hell was that missed?" the Director's voice was filled with quiet anger.

"I'm not sure how much Abbott knew. Conklin played it close to the vest. Both men wanted it that way. We're just putting together all the facts after two years. At the time, Ward was busy directing clean-up in Paris from Washington, while dealing with the Senate Budget Committee…" his voice trailed off as he went over Landy's preliminary report a second time.

"There's more, what aren't you telling me?"

"I was afraid of that," Noah cleared his throat and read a bit further. "It's the same girl. Abbott had them take Parsons with them to help with the hunt. According to Pamela Landy's prelim, Bourne grabbed Nicky in Berlin. There is a transcript of the partial conversation between them, before her wire went dead. The gist of it is that he threatened her at gun point…while denying the hit six days earlier."

"Hmmm interesting…" Ezra Kramer's mind began running down a new path. "They were stationed together in Paris for three years?"

"They were there at the same time, but not…together." Vosen looked quickly through files he'd taken from Conklin's safe, but couldn't find a shred of incriminating evidence. He was left staring at a photo of Nicky Parsons. "Besides have you seen this girl? She looks like somebody's sister."

"I know," Ezra's voice rumbled over the line. He had pulled up her information on his computer and was examining the same photo Vosen was. "She sure isn't the fuck-me type these guys were supposedly programmed to use to take care of their…needs," he grunted at the euphemism. God, how he hated woman's lib, and the necessity to pretty-up his language to be politically correct.

"Well according to Bourne's psych profile his…needs…were being taken care of on a regular basis." Noah Vosen knew that an agent's sex life was an indicator of his mental health, but he was a tidy man who found it offensive to think that somewhere, in some file, there was a check box next to his name that kept a monthly tab on the propriety of his copulations.

"Jesus, I'd have liked to have been a fly on the wall when Ms Prim and Proper had to ask those questions." He grinned wickedly. If a woman wanted to do a man's job then she had to ask a man's questions. "Any juicy details?"

"Ah…no, Sir."

"I've gotta ask myself why he let her live. Jason Bourne is a trained killer and had her at gun point twice. If he wasn't fucking her what the hell happened!" In Ezra Kramer's mind it still didn't answer the question. He had too many good memories of hot sweaty adrenaline driven sex. It had always had a slight taste of danger which made it almost addictive. Though he'd bet that Noah Vosen with his picky attitude had never indulged it any of the seamier pleasures that one could take so easily when in the field.

"She's not the only person Bourne left alive who he would have been wiser to kill." The Deputy Director in New York City was damned if he'd admit to knowing who really terminated Conklin, even if the line was secure. "Maybe he didn't view her as a threat," he offered. His boss was thinking old school and there was no use arguing the matter. Female personnel weren't put in place to simply satisfy the prurient needs of the field agents anymore. They had real jobs with real meaning.

"Bullshit! The woman has an eidetic memory and ran his life for almost three years. She was plenty dangerous to him. Nicky Parsons should be dead!" He didn't care if they'd been screwing or not. There was something about her that attracted Bourne and that was all that was important. "Where's she stationed now?"

"She's been in Amsterdam for two years. What do you have in mind?"

"Reassign her. Have her sent to Neal Daniels in Madrid." The more he thought about it the better he liked the idea. Daniels was their only other weak spot, keeping them together made things easier all the way around. "One way or another we use her as bait. If he comes after her hunting, that's one less problem for us. And we'll get Jason Bourne. If he comes after her for other reasons, well, we'll get them both, anyway."

"What about Pamela Landy?" Vosen had never liked the woman and he wasn't sure how much she really knew.

"Keep her on the periphery we'll be able to use her if this goes sideways."

* * *

Bourne shivered in the dark as he hid in a shed behind a factory in Moscow. He hurt all over and there was a deep throbbing in his side where he'd sutured his injury. He was running a fever and the aspirins he'd taken earlier weren't doing much to keep it under control. He curled into a tight ball and closed his eyes. Sleep was what he needed. Tomorrow he'd find some food and a change of clothes before he caught a train heading east.

His only thought was that he had to keep going. He focused on Paris and Marie's brother Martin who lived there. He owed the younger man the truth about what had happened to his sister. Now that he had an objective, a mission, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. Hours later the dream hit him. It was warm and familiar and something to hold onto as he fought the fever.

It wasn't quite dawn, but the deep black of night had changed to dark gray on the other side of the curtains drawn tight across his bedroom window. Far below, Paris was about to wake-up. He'd gotten up earlier than usual and went to make coffee. He walked quietly back into the bedroom. Smiling gently, he gazed at the woman sprawled across his bed on her stomach, pretending to sleep. Long, thick dark golden hair was strewn across her face and his pillow. Her creamy unblemished shoulders and back sloped down to meet the sheet at her slim waist. One fine-boned hand was flung out across the bed.

He ran his palm over his breastbone remembering the soft weight of her fingers curled against his chest on waking. As much as he wanted to slide out of the pajama bottoms that hung low on his hips and crawl back into bed, his training told him no. There was something he needed to do first, but he couldn't remember what it was.

"Jason," her voice was filled with sleep as she felt the empty space beside her.

"Time to wake-up." He put one knee on the mattress and caressed the sleek skin between her shoulder blades. It was almost dawn. Soon they would no longer be off the grid. There would be no hiding in the light. He had to remember what he needed to do that was so important!

"You have wonderful hands," she sighed and arched into his touch.

A car backfired and Bourne was instantly awake. He reached for his weapon and crept to the nearest exit before he realized that he was safe. He hadn't been discovered, it had only been noise from the street.

Hours later as he waited for a train, he realized that he'd had the dream again, or maybe he'd dreamt that he'd had a reoccurring dream. He was never sure which it was. Was the woman in his bed in Paris something that he dreamt over and over again or was she a figment of his imagination that was caught in another of those endless loops that all led back to his Treadstone training? Most frustrating of all, was the fact that no matter which it was, he was never able to remember anything about her except her hair.

Everything in him wanted to believe it was Marie in that bed; to believe that sometime between that day he and Marie had spent almost an hour in his Paris apartment and eight months later when he'd found her again, his mind had invented that moment.

He changed trains three times to be sure he wasn't being followed and avoided the high-speed rail service all of Europe was known for, in favor of local commuter trains. His destination was Minsk, Belarus and then on across Poland to Germany and finally France. He had no way of knowing which countries, if any, were looking for him. Boarder crossings were when his identification would come under the closest scrutiny. He'd mapped out a long circuitous route that would take him through small towns and if he stayed on schedule, he would cross the boarders at night when officials were tired and less observant.

His train finally crossed into Poland and he relaxed enough to be able to sleep for longer than a few minutes at a time. It had been six days since that night in the shed in Moscow and twice that since India, when he'd gotten his last full night of rest. He was moving on autopilot in basic survival mode when he closed his eyes and gave in to his body.

Hours later he moved through the dream, which had been haunting him recently. The bump and grind of the small train coming into the station woke him. Unlike previous times, he knew what he'd dreamt but with each passing second, it faded, until there was almost nothing left but the feel of a woman's warm body and long blonde hair.

He dug through the small pack he carried with him and made a quick note on the paper his dinner sandwich had come wrapped in. His hand froze as he gripped his pencil. He could hear Marie's voice as if she were sitting beside him.

* * *

_Goa, India – 2006_

"Wake-up, Jason," Marie spoke calmly as she gently ran her hand over his shoulder. She'd learned quickly that the easier he woke-up, the quicker he realized where he was. "You're dreaming, wake-up."

"Ahhh!" he gasped as he levered quickly off the bed, his body turning as he reached under his pillow for the weapon. The first thing he noticed was bright morning light that filtered in around the curtains. Then he heard the sound of the ocean in the distance. "India, we're in India."

"Yes, we are and we're safe, Jason, safe." She sat beside him on the bed and pulled his head down to her shoulder. "How bad was it this time?"

"No, no, I…wasn't dreaming." He was confused, his mind was a blank, but there was something just beyond his reach. The harder he tried to recall it, the more frustrated he became. "I was just sleeping."

Marie didn't argue with him, though she knew the signs of a nightmare. She also knew that he wouldn't lie to her deliberately, not about this. She was well aware that he kept things from her, and she hated that it was part of his personality, but she had to accept it or leave him. Whatever had been going on in his sleeping mind was lost for the time being. With luck it would come back. There were times when she pushed him to remember, but this wasn't one of them. His distress was too close to the surface.

Jason spent the day cleaning, first his weapons and then the house, which had just been cleaned the day before. Everything had to be in order, nothing out of place. He checked and rechecked the windows and doors, always looking for faces that shouldn't be there. Finally, before he drove them to a screaming match, he changed his clothes and went for a long run on the beach.

They'd eaten dinner and were enjoying a spicy cup of chai when a light flashed behind his eyelids. It flashed again and he saw the blonde woman sleeping on her stomach in his bed in Paris. Then it was gone, but he finally knew what had caused Marie to waken him that morning. He got up and pulled out the notebook where he'd been writing the snatches of memories and dreams that haunted him.

"What, what is it?" Marie looked concerned. "You remembered something?"

"Not really." He shook his head. "But you were right this morning, I had been dreaming. It was about Paris."

"Something new?" she couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. His life there fascinated her. It shouldn't have but it did. She knew he had done terrible things when living there. He'd been a trained killer. She'd seen the proof and lived with the results everyday. Maybe that was what interested her about his past. It was what drove her to help him remember. Here with her, he was stripped clean of all but the most basic elements of civilized man. He would sleep, eat, and work-out. They had long nights of intense sex, but they couldn't grow, until he did more than just exist. Occasionally the other Jason Bourne would peek out, the one who had lived in the huge apartment, the one who had a life beyond hiding and fear. She needed that man to return, before they could have a future together.

"No, the same old one," he murmured and tried to focus on what he'd seen moments ago.

"Oh," she fought to keep the disappointment out of her voice. She had her own theory about this particular dream, but had yet to convince him of it. Marie attempted one more time as she moved the book aside on the desk and slide her arms around him from the back, letting her long blonde hair fall over his shoulder. "Ya know, Jason, Freud said 'sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.' Maybe the same is true about dreams?"

"What, that they're a cigar?" He gave her a lop-sided grin, his black mood from earlier broken. He knew where she was going with this and hoped she was correct.

"No silly." She tried to look indignant, but was too happy that he was smiling again. "I know we weren't in your apartment for very long, but we were there together. If we hadn't been interrupted…" She caught her breath when she thought about the man with the gun and the fear he'd caused. She refused to recognize how much like Jason he had been.

"Marie," he whispered and pulled her around until she was sitting on his lap. His finger traced down the intricate curves of the tattoo she had on her shoulder.

"No, let me finish….You know as well as I do, that we probably would have ended up in your bed. Besides I like the idea that you dream about me, even if you can't remember it." Something in her needed to believe she was the faceless woman in his dream.

* * *

_A local commuter train in Poland – 2007_

The pencil snapped in Jason's fingers. He shivered when he thought about his apartment in Paris. It had been strange and barren. Nothing about it had made him feel comfortable except…the kitchen? He almost laughed out loud when he remembered slowly walking through that room, touching pans and surfaces as if they were a key to who he was.

He pictured Marie in his arms in bed. They'd had sex in too many bedrooms to count, in their time together. He could see her in each and every one of them, but each time he forced his mind to place her in his bed in Paris, his stomach clenched. He shook himself and closed his eyes as a wave of nausea swept over him. He was blinded by a flash of white light that filled his vision. As it cleared he saw long blonde hair strewn across his pillow and his hand moving over a creamy white shoulder and arm.

"Oh, God," he gasped, as he was filled with certainty. The woman in his dream lacked Marie's distinctive tattoos. He knew in that moment that if he'd discovered that piece of information when she was still alive, he'd never have told her about it. It made her too happy to think that he dreamt about her. There had been a lot he hadn't been able to give her, but that would have been within his power.

Jason changed trains again and ate a breakfast he hardly tasted. He couldn't pull his mind away from what he'd just learned. The woman was a key to who he really was and he believed if he found her, he could find the man beneath the killer, but first he had a job to do. He was going hunting!


	3. Counting The Cost

**Ch 3 – Counting The Cost**

* * *

_All I know is' I'm lost,_

_And I'm counting the cost,_

_My emotions are in a spin!_

_I don't know who to blame… _Dangerous Game – from Jekyll & Hyde

* * *

_Tangier, Morocco – January, 2007_

As the bus pulled out of the station, Nicky Parsons slumped in her seat. She was numb. It felt as if her physical world was moving in slow motion. Her feelings were left frozen in a café where she and Jason Bourne had stopped for coffee halfway between Madrid and the Strait of Gibraltar. Rational thought was lost in the twists and turns of the back alleys of Tangier. With fingers that shook, she side her sunglasses on her face and waited for her mind, body and emotions to catch up. She was terribly afraid that once that happened, she would crumple as she had when she was left alone in a cold room under Alexanderplatz Station, six weeks earlier. But this time there was no locked door to hide behind.

She could remember Jason's voice from years ago as he'd said, 'Ya gotta keep it together, remember that, Babe, no matter what happens, never fall apart, especially in public.'

'I'm trying. I really am,' she thought and stared out her window in hope of catching one last glimpse of him, but he was gone, as she knew he would be. She was left watching the empty place on the platform where he'd been moments earlier and tried not to acknowledge the emptiness that threatened to close in around her. She was on the run, off the grid and now very much alone.

Nicky wished she could pinpoint the exact moment in the last few week when her life had become surreal. It was too much, too much. She remembered thinking that same thought in the storage closet in Berlin, but this time refused to give in to it. That way led to tears and loss of control, none of which she could afford right now. Her chin rose and a look of determination crossed her face. Maybe she was better off if she kept her feelings locked away, at least for the time being.

The bus moved slowly through heavy afternoon traffic. Through the open window, she heard a background buzz of Arabic highlighted by honking horns. Nicky was on her way to Ceuta, one of the Spanish owned cities along the North African coast. The plan had been for her to head out from there, to lose herself in one of the many ports of the Mediterranean and the countries beyond. She figured she had approximately twelve hours before the CIA realized it had been fooled and discovered it was their assassin who had been killed in a bathroom in Tangier, not Bourne or her. Time was running out and she had to keep moving. She'd publicaly crossed the line when she'd thrown in her lot with Jason and helped him escape in Madrid. The false messages she'd sent diverting Daniel's killer would be tracked back to her, as well. There was no doubt in her mind that sometime in the next eighteen hours another kill order would be placed and her name would be on it as well as Jason Bourne's.

Before the Wombosi mission, she'd created false identities, slowly liquidated her American assets, laundered the proceeds through untraceable CIA connections and carefully bought Swiss notes and gold bullion. Her funds had been stored in a safe deposit box in Zueich. Nicky had gone through the motions to give Jason peace of mind. She'd never believed it was necessary but he'd needed to know she had an escape route if things went bad.

After Paris, and the destruction of Treadstone, she'd understood why he'd been so insistent. Someday the powers-that-be were going to look in her direction and realize that she knew too many hidden secrets to be left alive. When that time came, she had to be able to drop off the grid and stay lost or die. So she'd begun the process of changing her assets into Swiss frances, and enough Euros to live on for a few months. As much as she hated the idea of exchanging the gold, it increased her mobility to have cash. Since it was evident the agency had a source in the back where Jason had kept his funds Nicky had been moved hers to a safe deposit box at the main branch of Banca d'Italia, under a different identity.

In the six weeks since Berlin, Nicky had spent the time waiting and watching. She'd known her time was running out. But looking back on all the careful preparation over the last four years, she realized she'd left out one important detail. She'd never really believed that when the time came for her to run, that she'd be doing it by herself. Her heart had always believed that Jason would be by her side. Instead he had sent her on her way and he'd gone hunting.

He'd been hunting Neal Daniels when he'd arrived in Madrid, not looking for her, so what else should she have expected?—'Don't think about it, don't think about him or what a nightmare the last twenty-four hours has been.'—She clenched her teeth to bite down on her emotions. With a shake of her now dark hair, she forced her thoughts away from their conversation in the café outside of Gibraltar; away from the careful man, the observant man, the one who had been chasing his past for two years, but who had looked away and pulled back, rather than examine clues that might lead to his previous life which involved her.

'This isn't helping,' she chided herself. She needed to plan ahead, but kept wondering where Jason was going. What he would do when he got there was a forgone conclusion. She looked at her reflection in the bus window and squarely faced her dilemma. She had to know how this all ended, that he was all right, that he survived. Then she would drop off the grid.

Her sharp mind and excellent memory quickly sorted facts. The debacle that had been Treadstone was already being hinted at in the news. One small push in the right direction and it was going to spit wide open. She knew that Bourne planned on doing a hell of a lot more than pushing. In seconds her mind was made up. She would head for Palma, the largest city in Majorca. The island was a perfect place to hide temporarily. It was Spanish, full of tourists, especially young ones, and had daily broadcasts of MSNBC. She wouldn't get twenty-four news like she could, if she were in America or Canada, but most of Europe had daily updates of that station. She would watch from there.

* * *

_New York – January 2007_

He hit the water so hard it took his breath away. It felt good to let go, to just float in the cold depths. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he'd done it before. He could feel the throb of pain from a bullet wound growing numb as time slowed and it became difficult to think.

A flash of white light sparked behind his eyelids. He could see her, the woman from his dream. Her long blonde hair was still covering her face as she lay across his bed, and her hand reached out for him, imploring him to take it. It was a hand he knew. It was familiar and for some reason he could see it curled around his hands…his hands with bloodied knuckles and broken skin….

Emotion surged through his body and he kicked out, fighting his way to the surface. His lungs burned from lack of oxygen. He was almost there, he could do it and then he did, as he gasped for air. Along with the air, parts of his memory returned. He knew who he was, or who he had been, but the rest was still blank.

He was David…David Webb. He shook his head and refused to let his mind dwell on the still lost memories of most of his life as Jason Bourne. With swift sure strokes he swam through the fridged water of the East River. The current was strong, but he moved though it at a diagonal. He knew he'd been shot in the thigh. He'd felt the bullet's impact, but his limbs were growing numb from the cold. If he didn't make shore soon, he'd be swept out to sea.

Luck was with him, the tide was out. There were patches of rock and concrete at the base of the retaining wall to FDR drive. They gave him something to grab onto. He climbed out of the water, shook himself and kept right on going. He was Webb now, but it was Bourne's instincts that keep him alive. He closed his mind to the pain and cold and made his escape.

An hour later, curled in the basement of an old building, wearing dry clothes he'd stolen from a small retail sporting goods store, he fell asleep. His last thought was that he was Webb and glad the memories he had of Bourne began when French fishermen had pulled him out of the Mediterranean.

He slept soundlessly until just before dawn, when he moaned and turned in his sleep trying to pull away from the dream that was filling his mind. Desire heated his blood and his body responded. He wanted desperately to go back to bed and the woman who had curled in arms all night long. With a sigh, David gave up the battle and dreamt Jason's dream….

As he walked from the kitchen into his bedroom in Paris, he knew it was early, not yet dawn. With a smile on his lips, he watched the slim blonde woman pretend to sleep. She lay on her stomach, with her face buried against his pillow, her arm flung out and her hair trailing over her cheek and brow. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Her pale skin shimmered in the setting moon, against his deep blue sheets.

"Jason," her voice was groggy as she held out her hand for him.

"Time to wake-up." He rested a knee on the mattress and caressed her naked back.

"You have such wonderful hands," she sighed and arched into his touch.

"We need to talk…" He frowned, unsure what was going on. He couldn't take his eyes off of her hand resting in his. Suddenly he felt like he was an observer as well as a participant in the dream. Something was wrong; this wasn't how it went!

"I know, I'm sorry…we agreed…" Nicky Parsons turned over and pulled the sheet to her chin as she interlocked his fingers with hers.

"Noooo…."

_New York – January 2007_

"No!" David who had been Jason gasped as he shook himself awake in a cold basement in New York. "Marie, it should have been Marie!" he cried in anguish. He'd known for weeks that the woman in his dream wasn't the one who'd died in India, but this was too much. The discovery he'd just made filled his mind with flickering images that he wanted to deny, but couldn't…..

…..the way he couldn't stop looking at Nicky, with her long blonde hair and tailored sweater suit, when he'd confronted Conklin at the Safe House two years ago…..

…his anger and need to get off the gird. The bits and pieces he'd learned about his life, but couldn't defend because his memory only went back three weeks. But even with his need to run, he was choked with the thought that he was leaving something essential behind…

…..dark eyes that begged him for recognition, as he left her alone in the Safe House with Treadstone falling down around her head…..

…the shock that had been like a tiny electrical charge, making him pull back and take his finger off the trigger, as he recognized the slim short-haired blonde woman caught in the scope of his Sig Sauer 3000 as she stood beside Pamela Landy in Berlin…..

…the overwhelming need to be with that woman, to touch her and talk to her, even as he grieved for Marie All the time he told himself it was only to get information…..

….anger that had burned inside of him as he shoved Nicky against the wall and shouted at her. The need to hold Marie's name between them as he made the girl cry when he had his weapon pressed to her head…

…the tiny voice inside of him that had taunted him with the sure knowledge that no matter what happened he could not pull the trigger…..

…the sorrow on her face as she stared across a desk in Madrid and met his eyes when he once again pointed his 9mm Glock at her…..

….sitting in a café, in southern Spain, her silences had said more than her words. The way her eyes looked into his, and the dead tone in her voice when she asked him, "You don't remember anything do you?"…..

…..his refusal to delve any deeper, though he knew he should. The sudden need to look away, unable to see the pain in her eyes or ask the questions that hung between them…

…the fear and fierce need to protect her when he realized that she was being chased through the alleys of Tangier…

….her hand as it covered his bloody knuckles, sitting in a cheap rented room…..

….her hand as it had appeared in his dream…

…...her hand…

"Nicolette?" her name tumbled from his lips and made him shudder. It meant something, but God it hurt to believe that it did…that she did. Part of him wanted to insist his discovery was an hallucination, or something rooted in his imagination, created because he'd been with her so recently, but he couldn't. There were too many clues to be ignored. Sometime in the past, when he'd lived in Paris, they had been lovers. How and what it meant he wasn't sure.

When he'd been in Moscow he'd swore he'd find the woman in his dream, but now since he knew her identity it felt like a betrayal to Marie's memory. He'd already betrayed her enough. Maybe there was a compromise? There was one thing he could do for Nicky that wouldn't touch Marie. It would be dangerous, but the more he thought about it, the greater the need grew inside of him.

* * *

Pamela Landy was exhausted. She'd been up all night, tying up loose ends, and doing damage control on a story that she would have rather had shouted from the rooftops. It was ten in the morning and she had to pack for her afternoon flight home, to Washington D.C. She walked the few blocks to her hotel, but she couldn't make herself hurry. Something was nagging at the back of her mind. She'd missed something, but didn't know what it was. When she rounded a corner, a man gently bumped against her arm and the purse that hung over her shoulder. It startled her and she automatically turned taking a step toward him to defend herself if need be. But he never looked back or to the right or the left. He simply went on as if she didn't even exist. Her first thought was, 'Yeah, that's right, I'd forgotten I'm in New York, the city of rude and rushed…' But there was something about the set of his shoulders and the way he held his head that was familiar.

"Jason?" she whispered as she reached into her bag. She knew she would either discover that her wallet had been stolen or…."Yes," she murmured as her fingers closed around a cell phone that hadn't been there moments earlier.

Even as she was thinking about it, the phone rang in her hand. "Landy, here," she answered quietly.

"You still look tired, Pam. I thought I suggested that you should get some sleep?"

"Yeah, well that was before we met face-to-face. Since then I've been kinda busy." She looked around and didn't see him anywhere, but knew he couldn't have gotten far. "What's this all about, Ja—David? Playing phone tag is getting old."

"I need to stay dead."

"That takes seven years without a body. Are you sure you wouldn't rather come back in?"

"You and I both know that isn't a good idea." He was guilty and would deserve any punishment they gave him, but they had to catch him first.

"You were drugged. Your mind had been tampered with. Conklin and Abbott used you for their own gain." She tried to convince him that he would be safe. "We've got documentation to prove it."

"So I should plead innocent by reason of insanity? I don't think so, Pam. I've already spent enough time letting them play with my brain." He looked off into the distance and finally voiced his real worry. "Once they're through with Blackbrier, they'll be after anyone who had anything to do with Treadstone. My coming in will make them want to dig deeper, sooner"

"Ahh…" suddenly she heard the words he wasn't saying. He knew, like she did, that eventually Nicky Parsons would be dragged into all this. The fact that the girl was on the run only served to make her look guiltier to people who didn't know the secrets beneath the system. "I'll do what I can to keep her name out of it." If she expected a response on the other end of the phone, she didn't get one so she went on. "But there have been whispers in the press about Jason Bourne. That reporter who was killed in London didn't help matters. I can't give you any guarantees about either of you."

"I understand." It was as close as he came to admitting that some of his actions weren't purely self-motivated. "I need a favor. It would be easier to get out of the country if you could keep me clear of it for a few days." It wasn't true. He came and went, when and where he pleased, that was one skill he remembered, but the less anyone in authority know about it the better. "After that I need a message sent."

"What kind of message?"

"Give me two, maybe three days and then leak it to the press that my body was never found. That should be enough."

"David…'

"I've got to go. Keep the phone. You never know when it might ring."

"Wait, just tell me that she's safe," but her words were wasted, the line was dead. Pamela Landy felt old and dirty as she pocketed the cell and walked slowly through the doors to her hotel. Up until six weeks ago she'd loved her job and really believed she was doing some good, now she found herself in a mess of conspiracy and death.

As she ran her keycard through the locking mechanism, with one hand and balanced a cup of coffee with the other, she had a moment of déjà vu. It was like it had been in the Berlin Westin, when she was standing in the corridor, waiting for a dark-eyed girl to open her door. 'Nicky you're better than anyone ever knew,' Pam thought with a flash of insight. It hadn't been Conklin who'd given Parsons the extra training, but Jason Bourne.

For the first time in weeks the section chief smiled. She didn't know what there had been between Parsons and Bourne but whatever it was, it had kept the girl alive and she had to believe that it would continue to do so.

* * *

Three days later Pam was making coffee in her kitchen in Georgetown when the early morning news began. She'd been getting questions about Bourne, from the press, each night when she left the Senate hearings, but she'd refused to talk about anything that was going on. Last night that changed, she'd instructed media relations to release a statement crediting David Webb as the source of the information behind Blackbrier and to state that he'd fallen ten stories into the East River three days earlier. His body had yet to be found.

"There, I hope that's sufficient," she whispered. Part of her wanted to believe that somewhere in the world a young woman with short, dark-blonde hair and even darker eyes was listening and found relief in what was being said.

"Pam, are you all right?" Jonathan Landy put his arms around his wife and kissed her temple.

"It's been a rough few days and it's not over yet." She quickly blinked away tears that had threatened to fall and leaned against his reassuring weight. "I love you and I don't think I've said it enough over the last few years. You've made it possible…well, knowing that you love me and are here for me has kept me grounded and human in a world that too often is inhuman and cruel."

"Hey, now, what's this all about?" He swept his fingers through her hair. He'd loved his wife for every moment of their twenty year marriage, but recently she'd become more and more the agent. "I know you can't tell me what really happened in New York, but whatever it was, I'm glad it gave me back the woman I married."

"I'm sorry for the way I've been since Jenny left for college a year ago." Like so many of the women she knew who worked in male dominated careers she'd applied extra energy to her job in an effort to turn empty nest syndrome into feathering the professional nest. No one was going to accuse tough, hardnosed Pamela Landy of acting like a mom missing her daughter. "I became too focused on my work and took you for granted."

"Well you're back now." He could see that she was still upset and wasn't sure how to help her. It was hard being with a woman whose job forced her to keep secrets, but he'd known that was part of the deal when he'd married her. "I'm not sure I've ever told you, but I've always been very proud of you." He nodded to the TV and the continued coverage of Noah Vosen and Albert Hirsch's arrests and the possible indictment of Ezra Kramer. "But never more so than now."

"Promise me, that no matter what happens, you won't let me forget how important you are to me?" As the words spilled out, she froze, suddenly sure that was what had happened to Jason Bourne. When he'd lost his memory, he'd forgotten the one person who made him whole and complete. There wasn't a shred of proof in any of the files, not even a hint that his relationship with Nicky Parsons had been anything but professional. Over the last few years, fate kept bringing them together. Pam wasn't a romantic by nature, but she had to believe it had been for some reason and she hoped it was a better one than death and deception.

* * *

David Webb sat in a dark corner of a small waterfront bar in Marseilles. He was dressed in the rough clothes of a fishermen with a cap pulled low on his forehead and a three day growth of stubble. He was drinking harsh local wine and eating an early dinner of fish and cheese when the news caught his attention. No one else appeared to care that the Americans had another scandal in their CIA, or notice that a trained killer was sitting in their midst. The men in the bar had more important concerns, like the weather, how their local soccer team was doing, and the fluctuating price of fish.

He sat for over an hour, after the MSNBC broadcast, to be sure that no one was watching him. When he left, he cut down an alley and waited, but he wasn't followed. Landy had done as he'd asked, but what in the hell had he been thinking when he'd made the request? His mind had been too full of that odd dream about Nicky Parsons and he'd acted foolishly.

Nicky…His reasoning had been clear in New York, but what he'd done went against all his training. Something inside of him had needed to let her know he was still alive. He'd called it a compromise, but it went deeper than that. He shook his head at how dangerous it had been. The rash action on his part was a threat to them both and it was one more reason he was angry at her. It was bad enough that she'd withheld her knowledge of his past, the last time he'd seen her. A little voice inside of him tried to tell him that he hadn't wanted to hear anything she had to say, but he squished it. Anger and frustration had been his constant companions since Marie's death. He wasn't about to let them go, they protected him against feelings he didn't understand and didn't want.

It was hard enough dealing with the sudden return of chunks of his memory, without having to deal with emotions too. He was David Webb, but as hard as he tried to be that man, the name didn't fit. Memories before he'd been Bourne were like a story he had read in a book. He knew that Nicky was the bridge between his past and his present. That knowledge added resentment to his anger. She'd known the killer who he couldn't or didn't want to remember.

* * *

Nicky Parsons was in her usual spot in a touristy café in Palma. Majorca had been a good choice. The weather had been unseasonably warm, so the island had been mobbed with Europeans on holiday. It had been easy to hide among them. She was traveling under a Spanish passport, as Soledad Aguilar, a student from The University of Salamanca, who was taking some time off.

It had been three days since she arrived and she was getting restless, but she knew that she couldn't move on until she knew where Jason's trail had led him. The news broadcast broke into her thoughts and she looked up fascinated at what was happening in New York.

What she saw on the large screen made her feel lightheaded. He was alive, she was sure of it. She couldn't stop the smile that accompanied the thought. Closing her book, she sat back and let the sensation wash over her. He had gotten away once again. Now she had to do her part and get away too. A stark shaft of loneliness marred her moment of joy. She shook her head and refused to let her emotions take control. There was still too much for her to do and too many miles for her to travel before she could rest.

The next morning she boarded the ferry for the mainland. She had purchased a train ticket to Salamanca, but wasn't going to use it. When she arrived in Valencia she changed identities and destinations. Half an hour later she boarded a boat that would eventually take her to Rome, where she planned to spend the next few months lost among the hoards of artists trying to capture that city on canvas.

* * *

_Rome – February, 2007_

Nicky settled into a small two room flat. She purchased used art supplies carefully, never too many items from any one store. Everyday she headed out for the 'old city', where she'd set-up her easel and work with sketch pad, pencils and paints. She wore a large hat that protected her from prying eyes and the sun. She wore a bulky sweater to keep her warm, and add weight to her slight frame. Her baggy pants were dotted with paint and had been chosen more for ease of movement and warmth than style. She didn't look anything like the tailored professional who had run the Safe House in Paris, nor the stylishly dressed young woman who'd worked in Amsterdam and Madrid. Now she melted into the crowd of art students as if she belonged.

She smiled with pleasure as her pencil moved in quick sure strokes over the paper. She was drawing the rooftops of the city and felt at peace for the first time in a long while. It had been years since she'd had anything but a passing interest in art. When she was in elementary school, it had been a huge part of who she was. Then they'd discovered that she didn't simply have a good memory, but an eidetic one. Her mother had placed her in a special school to be sure she didn't let that talent go to waste. Her new classes may have fed her intellect, but they left no time for drawing.

She sighed and smiled to herself, refusing to think about her childhood with sorrow. If she'd been studying art in Paris, instead of working on her PhD in psychology, it would have been necessary to leave that part of her behind her forever. As it was, by giving it up as a child, she could return to it now, safe in the knowledge that there was no record of that particular talent. She could use it to hide behind and help build a new life.

It took her three weeks of painting and watching her back-trail before she was comfortable enough to go to the bank where she had a safety deposit box. It had been two years since she'd been there, but she had funds and travel documents she needed to retrieve. Once that was done she would have complete control over when and where she would go next.

The short dark-haired woman shivered as she entered the large double doors of Banca d'Italia. Her skin crawled and it felt as if there were a thousand eyes on her, but she knew it was her imagination.

Twenty minutes later she was sitting in a small private room and one of the clerks had brought her the locked box. With fingers that shook she turned the key and opened the lid. Her breath caught when she saw an unfamiliar bulky envelope wedged between her stacks of currency and passports. She recognized the handwriting on the address label. It had been written by Jason Bourne!

"Jason, what did you do?" she whispered as she dumped the contents onto the table in front of her. Tears filled her eyes and she had to brush them away to see. He'd left her three large stacks of Swiss francs, neatly banded together, a number of legal documents and a letter, which she immediately picked-up.

_Nicolette,_

_If you're reading this, I'm dead -_

"No!" she gasped, "I won't believe it. They didn't find your body. You're still alive, you have to be!" Her breathing was ragged as she fought emotions that were flooding her. She closed her eyes, rotated her head to the left and then the right and reached deep for the control he had taught her. Then she picked up the letter and began again.

_If you're reading this I'm dead and you're on the run. Remember everything I taught you. It will keep you alive and safely off the grid._

_Over the last eighteen months, you'd never allow me to give you anything except a weapon and advice. I need more than that. I need to know that you'll be safe when I'm no longer there. Call me selfish if you like, but I want you to have the contents of this envelope._

_Along with the money, there is a deed to a property in Positano, Italy. I purchased it in the name of Jean-Paul and Colette Benoit. It was a cash transaction that can't be traced. There is a large olive grove on the land behind the house, which turns a tity profit. It has paid for the upkeep over the years when no one has lived there._

_Jean-Paul's death certificate is among the legal documents. It will allow you to live the life of a single woman and maintain the guise of a widow. It's one more layer of protection to keep you hidden and off the grid._

_Everything that I've left you was mine. I was careful to separate my personal and professional identities, and funds. There is nothing here that was used by that other man, the one you tried so hard to protect me against._

_There's so much more I would have liked to have given you, but it appears that we've run out of time._

_Be happy and live for both of us,_

_J_

The letter was dated a week before Jason had left Paris on the secret mission that she later realized had been an attempt to kill Wombosi. Nicky didn't want to think about the ramifications of the timing of the note. Her mind went blank as she calmly packed the contents of the box into the canvas tote she used to carry her art supplies. She was numb again, as she'd been on the bus leaving Tangier. Her world moved in slow motion and her emotions were tangled and lost somewhere in the past. Each breath she took felt new, as if she was learning to breathe all over again. It was hard to reconcile this man, her Jason, with the cold cruel man in Berlin and the strange quiet one in Madrid and Tangier

On her way to her flat she stopped in the marketplace and bought some bread and cheese for dinner. Her stomach was tied in knots and she wasn't hungry, but she knew she had to eat. She made her purchases quickly, unable to completely put aside the oppressive closeness of the tiny streets of Rome, or the crowds which pressed in all around her.

Later she crawled into bed, too exhausted to think about what to do next. Her options were endless, Jason had seen to that. Nicky fell into a restless sleep. She lost count of the number of times she'd drift off and suddenly woke to find herself staring at her small travel clock sitting on the rickety table beside the bed. Finally about 3 am she fell into a deep sleep. That was when the dream hit her.

She was running through the back alleys of Tangier. The operative Desh was chasing her. She fought fear that was threatening to make her useless and kept on running, knocking over anything on either side of her that might slow him down. She ducked into doorways and ran up a flight of stairs….Suddenly everything changed and she was in Paris again…running through backstreets and hidden places. It was dark instead of blindingly bright. Instead of the chatter of angry Arabic in the background, she heard a saxophone from far away. It was playing the slow, sad, song '_Smoke Gets In Your Eyes'._ She looked over her shoulder and instead of Desh, Jason Bourne was three feet behind her. His eyes were frozen blue, glittering in the moonlight.

He slammed her against a wall and his lips covered hers. Desire ripped through her and she met him kiss for kiss as she tried to tell him about the killer on her trail. Then it didn't matter because his hand had moved beneath her sweater and against her skin. Everything shifted slightly and where his warm hand had been, she felt cold steel pressed under her left breast. Desire gave way to fear when Jason pulled the trigger as she screamed his name…

"No!" she cried out. She woke shaking and covered in sweat. Her stomach heaved as she gagged and she ran for the small bathroom. She threw-up the small amount of food she'd been able to choke down the night before and kept on retching until she lay exhausted on the floor. "Oh God, oh God," she muttered. It had finally caught up with her. She'd been wondering how long it would take before the emotional trauma of the last few months caught up with her.

Her body felt tied in knots from dry heaves, but she couldn't go back to bed. In the last few minutes her room had begun to close in on her, like the city had been doing the night before. Breathing carefully through pursed lips she grabbed jeans and a heavy sweater and climbed out her window, up the fire escape to the roof.

She sat shivering in a dark corner, letting the breeze blow through her hair while she stared at the wide expanse of sky. The claustrophobia that had driven her into the chilly night loosened its hold and she began to relax.

"It was only a dream," she repeated over and over to herself, but deep inside, she knew it wasn't simply a dream. It was rooted in fact and enhanced by feelings. As the moon set, she let herself think about Paris and the first time she had to send Jason on a mission after they had become lovers…

* * *

_Paris, 2003_

Jason and Nicky had been together for two months. Their explosive beginning when he'd pushed her to the breaking point while practicing with her Glock Compact outside of Paris had never stopped. They knew it was unprofessional and didn't care. They new it was dangerous and took every precaution either of them could think of and made-up others along the way. They tried to call it sex, but both knew it was much more than that. They were hip deep in a love affair and closed their eyes to everything else but maintaining complete secrecy when together.

The day Nicky had been dreading had finally come eighteen days earlier. She'd had to send him on a mission and it had been more difficult than she ever imagined it would be.

Two weeks later she received his mandatory check-in. It indicated his assignment was completed, but was nothing more than a coded text message. All of her instincts told her he was back in Paris, but the night before he'd left, he'd instructed her that she wasn't to come looking for him. He would find her. Her nerves jumped, unsure of what she should do. She wanted to see him, to see for herself that he was all right. But more than that, she wanted to feel his body against hers.

It was dark when she left work. She hadn't gone more than ten steps from the door of the Safe House when she became aware of someone behind her.

"Keep on going," Jason, muttered as he drew along side. "Turn right at the end of the block. I'll be waiting for you." Then he passed her to move quickly on his way.

She watched his broad back disappear in the evening rush of people heading home and her heart soared. She followed his instructions, which led her down a small winding street, but didn't see him anywhere. A cat meowed off to her right, but other than that it was quiet, almost deserted. She looked carefully around, but all she saw were shadows until he suddenly appeared before her. He put his arm around her and turned her quickly until her back was against the side of the building.

"Hi," his voice was deep and slow as he ran both hands through her hair at the sides of her face.

"Hi, yourself," she could hardly speak her heart was pounding so hard. "I've missed you."

"I want to spend time with you, but first you need to understand." He knew he wasn't making much sense, but she needed to know what she was getting into, if they continued as they had been.

"Jason-" She frowned not sure what he had in mind.

"I'm going to give you a three minute head start." He looked at his watch. "See if you can lose me."

"You're kidding?"

"No, and you're wasting time. You now have two minutes and 56 seconds."

Nicky turned and fled. She felt the adrenaline pounding in her blood as she moved quickly out of the alley and down the next street. She was sure this was another one of his lessons, but she wished he could have waited. All she really wanted to do was be near him.

Their game of hide and seek started out as fun, but it didn't take her long to realize it was a very serious game, and then it became terrifying. Just when she thought she couldn't take it any longer, fear and desire tingled along her nerve endings each seeming to feed on the other. She began to wonder if he wasn't taking her through some kinky form of foreplay. It certainly had the desired effect, though a good backrub was more to her taste.

Three times she tried to return to one of the well-lighted, busier streets, but each time she was driven away. Once she heard something snap as it was crunched under foot. Sure it was Jason, she wheeled around and headed back into the dark where she'd come from. Ten minutes later she could see a street light down the next block. As she headed toward it, a small potted plant fell to the ground fifteen feet to her left and she swerved the other way. Finally, she could hear the bustle and laughter of people on the next block. All she needed was to go down one small stretch of dark alleyway and she'd be with them, but she heard footsteps accompanied by an oddly chilling whistle. It was between her and the crowd. She turned and fled, completely lost and confused, no longer sure which way she should go.

Nicky stopped to catch her breath and tried to get her bearings. She could hear the wail of a blues sax coming from a window high above her. On two sides there were tall buildings beginning to fill with the sounds of people coming home from work. At her back was a high wooden fence. She was boxed in except for the way she'd come and a crooked little street that appeared to lead nowhere.

"This is ridicules," she chided herself for the fear that was making her lose all sense of where she was and what she was doing. But words didn't help; her hands still shook as she slowly walked toward her only untried option. To steady them, she dragged her fingers lightly against the brick building at her right shoulder and she picked up speed. The street had more twists and turns than she realized. Suddenly she was cut off from any light except from the stars and some windows high above her head.

She screamed as she realized the feel of wool had replaced cool brick under her hand. An arm wrapped around her waist and a palm covered her mouth. She kicked and scratched, but the man wouldn't set her free.

"Nicky," a harsh whisper filled her ear. "It's me."

"Jason," she gasped as he turned her in his arms. She couldn't stop shaking and held on tightly because her knees felt like rubber. "You frightened me," she accused.

"I meant to. You need to know what the dangers are," his voice was harsh. He'd killed too recently. Even as he inhaled her perfume, he remembered the scent of blood. What he'd meant as an object lesson for her had become real for him and toward the end he'd been hunting. All his senses were sharpened, colors brighter, needs intensified.

"Are you all right?" She caressed his cheek and her touch set him on fire.

"Come with me." He gripped her hand and led her through the door he'd pushed her against.

"Where are-" She was almost sure she knew where they were. If she was right, he'd herded her almost two miles by way of backstreets and alleys to his apartment.

"Quiet," he warned as they soundlessly ran up the backstairs of his building. He quickly unlocked his door and shoved her into his hall. "Stay here," he whispered as he relocked the deadbolt and pressed her against the wall beside the alarm box where he punched in his code.

He didn't turn on lights, but she could see the hard blue glitter of his eyes as he slowly turned toward her. Something like fear and pain rushed through her when she realized that for one quick second she was looking at Jason Bourne the Treadstone asset. This was the man Conklin prized and if he had his way, this was the only version of Jason who would exist.

"Are you all right?" she asked again, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew he wasn't. He had slipped back behind his Paris mask, but it was thin and could crumple at any moment.

"Who's asking, the clinition or the woman?"

"Jason," she gasped. "It's not like that and you know it!"

"Are you so sure, Nicky?" His words were hard and cold as he pressed his body against hers. "Maybe it's a bit of both?" He yanked her coat off her shoulders trapping her arms at her sides with the garment. "The psychologist is always looking and watching as the woman fucks the killer? It would make for an interesting study in the sexual appetites of an assassin."

"Are you crazy?" Her palms were flat against the wall as she struggled to get hold of her coat so she could pull free.

"There's always that possibility," he murmured as he ran the back of one knuckle lightly against her left nipple

"No!" she cried out. Desire shot through her and she arched, driving her hips against his. "No! Stop!" Tears filled her eyes as she looked into his frozen blue ones an inch away from hers. "You aren't crazy, I won't believe that." She could see he knew exactly what he was doing to her body. "Please, Jason, this isn't you."

"Are you so sure?" he whispered as he dragged his lips against her ear.

"Yes." Nicky refused to meet violence with violence so she put it all on the line and did the only thing left to her. She worked her arms out of her coat and wrapped them around him with her face buried against his neck. She felt his body tremble against hers.

"You're wrong," he growled and cupped her face so he was looking her in the eyes again. "You have to realize this is part of me too. I'm not kind or gentle. I'm what they made me into!"

"That's Conklin talking!" she shot back, her fingers curled around his wrists. "You're more than that, much more."

"Nicky, don't push me, not now. You'll only end up…end up…" He gritted his teeth and fought the almost overpowering need to take her. "Oh God, do you realize how close I came to hurting you." He tried to pull away from her, but she wouldn't let go. "Damnit, let go of me!"

"No." She shook her head and held on tighter.

"Look at me! Don't you see what I am?" His lips crushed hers beneath his; needing to taste and touch her all the while knowing it was a mistake.

She leaned into him nibbling at the corner of his mouth as his tongue swept deep into hers. She pulled at his coat until it landed on the floor at their feet.

"No, wait." He pulled back, kissing her neck and ear. He had to catch his breath and give her a chance to know what was really inside him. "I should have waited a few more days, but damnit, I needed to feel your skin against mine. It's not safe to be with me when I'm like this."

"I'm not afraid of you."

"This isn't like before," he tried one last time to explain. "I'm not who I was, when I pushed you too far that day target shooting. At times like this, control is all that keeps me in check. You make me want to forget all about control."

"I know, and I don't care." Her blood pounded. He was back and still wanted her that was all that mattered.

"You should!" He gripped her shoulders to keep from stripping off her clothes and taking her where they stood. "You haven't a clue what's beneath the civilized veneer of the man who meets you every four weeks at the Safe House."

"Maybe not, but I know a lot about the man I've been sleeping with for the last two months and tonight, I've seen what lies beneath. He doesn't frighten me." She blinked tears of frustration and confusion out of her eyes, refusing to cry. "You don't hurt women, Jason, no matter how dark or intense you get."

"No, I just kill them!" His voice was bitter and his words shot through her. He was balancing on the edge between the killer and the man, but she had to see, she had to know what he was really like.

"We both do." Nicky couldn't stop her tears from running down her face as the truth came pouring out. "I'm as much to blame as you are, more so, if you think about it. I give others their assignments, not just you! I may not pull the trigger, but that doesn't make me any less guilty."

Deep blue eyes met dark, almost black ones. They were two people who killed, one by giving orders and one by following them. Fierce needs surrounded and filled them. In two swift movements he unzipped the back of her cashmere knit dress and pulled it over her head.

"Please, I want to feel your skin too," Nicky's voice was hoarse with desire. He pulled away from her and tossed his sweater beside her dress. Her fingers moved under his shirt as he unfastened her bra and slid his hands around until they were filled with her breasts.

"Oh yes," she moaned and kicked off her shoes as his touch set her on fire.

"No more," he growled and pulled her down the hall. They made it as far as the kitchen. As he lifted her up on the cool surface of the counter, his hands slid down her body and pulled off her pantyhose. She reached for the hem of his shirt, but he was too impatient to pull it over his head. "I want you now."

She reached for his belt and zipper, to set him free as he pulled off the scrap of lace she wore as panties.

"I missed you," she whispered and she ran her hands over his chest. He separated her thighs and pulled her closer.

"Hold on," he warned as he held her slim shivering body against his. She buried her face in the crook of his neck and locked her arms around him. As he filled her, she cried out and shattered into a million pieces, but wouldn't let go. He couldn't stop moving and she wouldn't have let him if he'd tried. They were driven by primitive needs that burned away anger, guilt and hurt. It left fertile ground for much more binding feelings to begin.

Later, spent and sated, he carried her to bed. Once he'd undressed, he lay beside her and pulled her into his arm. As he gently kissed her, she looked at him and ran her hand over his face.

"Don't ever do that to me again," her voice was raw and shook. "Don't try to scare me away. If you want me gone, just tell me and I'll go." Tears filled her eyes.

"Hush, Nicolette, I've got you." He pulled her closer. "It won't ever happen again."

And it didn't. Nicky still sent him out on missions, but Jason was always careful. He made sure that the killer in him was back in his box, before he'd let her come to him. It was another of their unspoken rules. He'd return from an assignment and the first morning back, she'd see him at a distance, usually on one of the running paths. But he took the time he needed to become human again.

Over the next year and a-half, they played escape and evade in any number of cities and small towns in Europe. Nicky was never able to completely lose him, but she learned a number of tricks along the way.

* * *

_Rome – February, 2007_

Nicky had sat on her roof for hours remembering. It was a relief when darkness was driven away by gray low hanging clouds of very early morning. She still felt trapped, hemmed in by the city that was waking up six stories below her, but she was too cold to care. Exhausted she climbed down the fire escape and fell into bed.

* * *

_Washington D.C. – 2007_

The Senate investigation into the CIA's 'alleged criminal activities' dragged on through February and into March. As each day passed Pamela Landy felt more disheartened. Albert Hirsch, Noah Vosen and Ezra Kramer were indicted, but she felt like the prisoner. She was trapped in hearings when all she wanted was to get back to active duty. She'd made a career out of being invisible, now she was forced into the limelight and didn't like it.

By the middle of March she faced the truth, she'd never be able to do undercover work again. She'd been offered Deputy Director in charge of the new Anti-terrorist Division that was growing out of the ashes of Vosen's old New York teams. Acting Director Charles Jennenings was moving it back to Langley where he could keep a closer eye on its actions and felt she was the perfect person to take the lead.

In many ways it was a plum assignment. It kept her in the DC area which was good for her marriage. Her husband had recently accepted the chairmanship of cardiac surgery at Georgetown University Hospital. It was something he'd wanted for a while. Though he was happiest when he was in the operating room, he now had a chance to shape a department. In many ways Pam was being given that same chance. She knew she could do a better job than Vosen and wanted time to prove it. She wanted to believe she could run a clean department and still get the job done. After all, what was the sense of fighting terrorism if they were reduced to committing the same crimes?

The one thing she refused to think about was the cheap black cell phone hidden in the bottom of her purse. One day it would ring and David Webb would be on the other end. When that happened she didn't know what she was going to do.

* * *

_February, 2007_

David Webb worked his way down the coast of France and through Spain. He'd been traveling for three weeks. He was restless and moody. He spent his days in constant activity, but only slept a few hours each night. He would waken knowing he'd dreamt, but unable to remember what he'd been dreaming about.

Instinct left over from Jason Bourne told him he was safe, hidden, off the grid, but he had no more answers than when he'd left Marseille weeks earlier. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself he really was Webb, the name didn't fit. It was ironic; he'd spent the better part of the last two years trying to remember who he was. Now that he did, he was more comfortable thinking of himself as Jason. But he couldn't accept what it was rumored he'd done during the missing years. A little voice in his head told him that was why he still couldn't remember all the pieces of the puzzle that were his life as an assassin.

He was confused. He missed Marie and all that she'd represented, but when he closed his eyes it was Nicky Parsons' face that filled his mind. One night laying in the dark, trying to fall asleep he made himself look at every aspect of his life with Marie. Had she really loved him or were they two people with ruined lives who had clung together for support in an uncertain world?

"No, no, she really did care," he muttered. He had been the one who had short-changed her. As much as he'd wanted to love her, he hadn't been able to. Up until now he'd always thought it had been because he had to keep his mind free of entanglements so he was able to see danger if it came their way. But he'd almost missed the danger and Marie had died for his mistake.

Lately he was haunted by fleeting memories: a laugh he could almost place; dark eyes that looked at him and knew who he was; a warm smile that accepted him in all his guises; and a slim lithe body that moved against his as they lived a secret life. As much as he needed that woman to be Marie to appease his conscience, he knew it wasn't. It was Nicky Parsons.

By the middle of March he was trimmed down to muscle and bone, a man who hardly slept and only ate because his body needed feeding. That was when he began to dream about the sunlight. He would waken remember seeing a small city that rose almost straight up out of the ocean. It looked as if houses and buildings had been built one on top of another, up the side of a mountain.

After five nights he was able to put a name to the area, if not the town. It was the Amalfi Coast in Italy, south of Naples. He didn't remember ever being there, but then there was a lot he didn't remember about his years as Bourne. He still saw faces of the dead, why shouldn't he let himself see that beautifully city too? But it was more than that. The place that invaded his dreams was important. He hadn't had something that really mattered since New York. He made a decision, he was going to Italy.

* * *

_Rome – March 2007_

The last month had been hard for Nicky. She tried to paint everyday, but she wasn't able to concentrate and the activity that had given her so much joy, had become a chore. Everything had changed when she'd gone to her safe deposit box and discovered what Jason had left her. In her mind she tried to think of him as David Webb, but she'd loved Jason for too long. She wasn't sure she'd ever be able to make the transition.

She fought claustrophobia night and day. Rome was crowded and people seemed to hem her in. It was only sheer strength of well-power that prevented other panic attacks like the one that had driven her to her roof a few weeks earlier. She wasn't eating because her stomach rejected anything but tea and light toast. Dreams of violent Jason waited for her when she fell asleep, so it was easier to simply stay awake.

By the middle of March she knew that she had to leave or go crazy. The question was where to go? Her mind always answered with one word: home. But she didn't know where that was anymore. New York City had ceased to be home when two planes had hit the towers and ash, smoke, fire and paper had rained down around her. Like so many others, that moment had changed her life. She'd been set to take a job with the FBI when she completed her masters. The advent of terrorists on American soil enlarged her thinking and made her ripe for Conklin's offer six months later.

For a while Paris had been home, but Nicky knew it wouldn't be safe to return there, even if her emotions would have allowed her to. That was where she and Jason had been happy and she wanted to remember it that way. Tears filled her eyes and she could almost hear his voice saying, 'We'll always have Paris.' Oh she was definitely going crazy, mistaking Tangier for Casablanca and Jason Bourne for Rick of Rick's Café.

With a sigh she picked up the deed to the property in Positano. She didn't know if she'd find home there, but it was something from him. Part of her wanted to hold on to it and keep it secret. It was like her Glock Compact, a gift from Jason for her protection but if she used it, and it was discovered, she would have to leave it behind. But as she looked in the mirror, at how thin she'd become, with dark circles under her eyes, she realized now was when she needed to make use of her resources. She would make her plans and by this time next week she would be on the Amalfi Coast in a small town that towered above the ocean. She would be safe there, hidden, and off the grid.


	4. Silence Speaks

_**Ch 4 – Silence Speaks**_

* * *

_Silence speaks –_

_Loud and clear –_

_All the words we (don't) want to hear!_

_At the touch of your hand – _

_At the sound of your voice –_

_At the moment your eyes meet mine –_ Dangerous Game – from Jekyll & Hyde

* * *

_Rome – March 2007_

Nicky packed her belongings from the small two-room flat in Rome and moved on. Her first inclination had been to take the train and then a bus to Positano, but after careful examination of the road along the Amalfi Coast, she opted to buy an automobile. The city could only be reached by a steep mountain highway, the water, or on foot over trails through rugged mountains. She purchased a used Fiat Barchetta. The small dark green two-seater had a high performance engine and could turn on a dime. She knew that if she had to make a quick escape from her new home, under cover of night, the little car might save her life. During the trip south she became less Nicky Parsons and more Colette Benoit with each kilometer that passed.

She stopped in Naples and had her hair stylishly cut and highlighted with shades of browns, blondes, and a touch of auburn. The all-over affect was one of careless sophistication and the color had the advantage of containing enough shades close to her natural ones that she'd hardly ever have to touch it up. She was a French widow now and needed to look the part. The choppy cut and dark coloring she'd given herself in Tangier had been fine to hide behind to get out of North Africa and hadn't been out of place among the struggling artists of Rome, but now she was playing a different role.

From Naples south, she drove with the top down on her car. She loved the wind in her hair as she sped along. For the first time since she opened her safe deposit box, she felt free. The claustrophobia that had driven her from Rome slipped further and further away. She hoped she'd be as lucky with the nightmares.

* * *

_Positano – April 2007_

The widow Benoit settled into the old stone cottage on one of the high plateaus above the city. She was quiet and introspective. If she had a slight tendency to be a hermit, no one thought it was odd. She was French and an artist. It was well known they had their little eccentricities.

* * *

David Webb traveled the winding road along the Amalfi Coast with a bus of off-season tourists. They stopped in each city to sightsee and he went with them, playing his part as if he belonged. It was a perfect cover. But the further they traveled, the more he believed that he'd never been to that area, despite what his dreams were telling him.

His knew his amnesia played tricks with his mind. He remembered being David Webb, but the huge slice that was Jason Bourne was almost completely blank. He believed that he'd never been to Italy as Webb but, if there was any truth to the nightmares he'd had when hiding with Marie, Bourne had.

Late at night, in his darkened room, he squinted at the map and journal he and Marie had so diligently kept. She'd been sure he'd find the answers to who he was, if he just kept a careful record of memories as they returned to haunt his nights. All he'd ended up with was a book that proved he was to blame for her death and was an uneasy trail to another woman. When he fought for answers during sleepless nights he often wished he'd consigned Marie's journal to flames along with everything else good she'd brought into his life.

The area and the towns he was traveling through were beautiful, and at times his surroundings looked familiar, but it was more like he'd studied them in pictures. Unlike Berlin, Naples, Marseille, and even parts of New York City, where he'd had a gut feeling to turn this way, or to go that way at intersections, the Amalfi Coast was new to him. He was more certain with each kilometer that he'd researched the area, but never actually been there.

When the group he was traveling with arrived in Positano, he recognized the small city he'd seen in his dreams. As he stood at the side of the road between the beach and the town, reality filled in the gaps that his sleeping mind had left blank. Houses were built up the mountain, one on top of the other. Above the buildings jagged rocks were dotted with green, where vegetation clung to small patches of soil. Occasional plateaus cut into the steep mountain added patches of color.

It didn't make any sense. He was a man who depended on logic to keep him alive, as it had for the last two years. Now he was chasing something that was most likely born out of sleep deprivation and depression. As he watched the tour bus pull out of town, leaving him behind, he wondered if something inside of him had snapped and this was his way of giving up.

* * *

David had been in Positano four days when he saw her setting Indian-style on a blanket on the beach, with a sketchpad in her hand. Her hair, under her floppy-brimmed hat, was different. She wore a bulky sweater that was out of place with the stylish silk scarf slipped casually around her neck, but the way she moved gave her away. His insides froze and he walked with cat like grace to slip carefully among the morning shoppers. Once he put some distance between them, he slowly turned to watch her work. He didn't need the small scope in his pocket to know he was watching Nicky Parsons.

* * *

Three weeks after she'd arrived in Positano, Nicky made her first trip to the beachfront to draw. She was settled on a blanket with a sketchpad and pencils, but for some reason couldn't concentrate on her work. She was fascinated by the way the houses and buildings covered the side of the steep mountain. They created interesting patterns and shadows, crowded one on top of another, but her neck was itching and it felt as if she was being watched. She kept her head bowed over her pad and lifted her eyes to carefully study the people on the road and in front of the shops, but everything appeared normal.

Every muscle in her body screamed to get up and run, but she forced herself to sit and calmly moved her pencil over the paper. Sweat dampened her back and her heart pounded in her chest, but she didn't give in. After an hour, she carefully closed her sketchbook and packed it in her tote along with her other supplies. Then with sure even steps she left the beach. Nothing could make her walk among the streets and markets as she'd planned. It would be too much like Tangier if someone was following her and she allowed herself to be trapped in the labyrinth of buildings that made up the town. Instead she went directly to her car. She would shop another day.

That night when she fell into a restless sleep, her nightmares returned. She spent most of the hours she should have been sleeping, pacing and checking her weapon, the locks on windows and door and making sure the blackout curtains were tightly drawn. When dawn came she dressed warmly and walked a circuit of her house, looking for footprints, but there where none.

For six nights, in Nicky's sleeping mind, Jason Bourne chased her through the streets and back alleys of Paris, Rome, Berlin, Tangier and any of the other cities or small towns where they'd played escape and evade over the years. Like that first frightening game, each time he caught her, he would devastate her senses with his touch and his kisses. Then her dream would spiral out of control and she would feel cold metal against her hot skin. His Glock fired and she would hear his angry voice as she died! Everytime she woke up screaming.

She didn't need her PhD in psychology to read beneath the dream. Weapons, especially handguns, were phallic symbols. Though Nicky had always believed that as a scientist Sigmund Fraud was nothing more than a sick bastard, he had gotten some things right.

* * *

David huddled in his sleeping bag in a nitch in the rocks and continued his surveillance of the plateau some fifty feet below. The cottage, which faced the ocean was hundreds of years old, though he could tell, even from a distance, that it had been modernized over the years. From the condition of the roof, and the windows, he was sure the last renovations had taken place less than three years earlier. From his vantage point, he could see over the thick twelve-foot high wall, which ringed the property and separated the dwelling from a stand of well cared for olive trees.

He'd been watching for almost a week and each day his anger and frustration grew. What was she doing here? It made no sense. When he'd put her on that bus, he'd had every intention of never seeing her again. It would be safer for both of them if it remained that way, but he knew he couldn't leave until he had some answers to his questions.

As the moon rose and the hour grew late, he crept down the mountain. He'd watched long enough to know that no one else was watching her. It had been one of his main worries, that she was bait, either willingly or unwillingly, in a trap to capture him. Again he cursed himself for contacting Pam Landy, but it was too late, the action couldn't be undone, so he had to live with the consequences.

He slipped over the wall and pulled his Glock from the small of his back. He was in hunting mode and all of his senses were alerted. He reached for his small flashlight in his jacket pocket and ran the beam up and down the door, with special attention to the lock. The old cottage was equipped with a sophisticated alarm system, but whoever had put it in wasn't as careful as they should have been, one small wire was visible. It took David, using Jason's skills, less than five minutes to disable it.

* * *

Nicky tossed in bed, fighting as she began to dream. Just as she was running down a back alley with a dead-end, her body jerked and she woke quickly, more frightened of the real world than the phantom one that haunted her sleep. At first she was disoriented, thrust back into her hotel room in Berlin when Landy had knocked on her door, but this was Italy, not Germany and the night was filled with silence instead of muffled bangs and voices.

She shivered as goose bumps broke out on her arms and her hand slide automatically beneath her pillow for her Glock Compact. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what it was. Her fingers itched to pop the clip and check her load. It was a nervous habit she'd developed since Berlin. She'd inspected her ammunition before she'd gone to bed, if she did it now, the telltale sounds might give her away.

Noiselessly she slipped out of bed. Five careful steps later, her back was tight against the wall separating her bedroom from the living room. She didn't let herself think, only acted, one step, then another and another and her shoulder brushed the molding along the doorframe. Whatever had woken her sent adrenaline rushing through her bloodstream. Fear threatened to choke her, so she took a deep breath, gripped her weapon with both hands and rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. It loosened the tight muscles along her back and allowed her to focus on the task ahead. Crouching low, she went quietly through the doorway. At the far end of the room, a silhouette was outlined against the fireplace. Her heart pounded in her ears and she tightened her two-handed gripped on her Glock as she took aim. This was the moment Jason had prepared her for years ago. It was the one she'd been dreading each time she practiced.

A sharp blow hit her wrists at the nerve at the base of her thumbs. Pain followed by numbness made her fingers useless and she lost hold of her weapon. Before she could react, her feet were swept out from under her and a body crashed into hers, taking her down hard. As the breath was knocked out of her, the only thought in her mind was that she'd lost her advantage and then she felt the cold metal of a gun barrel against her neck. It was her nightmare, but this time there would be no waking up.

"Stop fighting me!" a familiar voice growled.

"Jason?" she gasped.

"Don't call me that, damnit." He pulled her to her feet with one hand fisted in the front of her green men's Henley. His gun was still an inch away from her forehead. "Don't call me that name. I'm David Webb now."

"I don't care what name you're using! You're alive, that's all that matters." Nicky reached for him, sure his memory had returned, but the touch of her hand on his face was met with a cold blank stare and the muzzle pressed tighter under her jaw. Confusion blotted out common sense and silenced the alarm bells that had been going off in her head since she'd had the creepy sensation of being watched as she drew on the beach. "If you're going to shoot me, do it! I'm sick and tired of you sticking your weapon in my face each time we meet!"

"What the hell are you doing here?" He slowly lowered his Glock and tucked it into the waistband at the small of his back, but kept a snug grip on the front of her shirt.

"What _am I_ doing here?" Her heart sank as she realized it was like Madrid all over again. He wasn't looking for her, but following an agenda of his own making. "You don't remember do you?"

"We've been over that once before." He wasn't sure what game she was trying to play.

"It wasn't you who arranged this? I should have realized, I should have known!" Panic shivered up her spine, but she refused to give into it. "It was a set-up, the letter, the money, the house, all of it. I think someone has been watching me for almost a week. We're blown. We've got to get out of here! They must have known and baited the trap. I fell into it and now you have too." Her words tumbled out one on top of another as she fought to pull away, get to her weapon and run. "Let me go, damnit, we're out of time."

"You're talking nonsense!" He shook her to get her attention. "No one is out there. I've been the one watching. It was me."

"You?" Her brows rose along with her temper. She'd spent the last week in fear and doubt. She'd hardly slept or eaten and he had the nerve to calmly accuse her of talking nonsense! "It couldn't have been you. You barge right in waving your Glock and threatening to kill me."

"I had to be sure…" his words trailed off as he became aware of his knuckles pressed between her warm breasts where he still held on tightly to her shirt. "I had to be sure you weren't being watched and that I could trust you." He forced each word to sound calm as he carefully set her free.

"After Tangier you had doubts?" She glared at him.

"You lied to me!" he accused.

"I never-" She'd never seen him like this, even when he'd threatened her under Alexanderplatz Station

"Don't play innocent. You had to have known a hell of a lot more about me than you let on." He clenched his hands at his sides to quell the urge to shake her, again. "I don't remember much about being Jason Bourne, but bits and pieces are coming back. I know we were fuck buddy, at one time." He squinted as her mouth dropped open in shock. "Or was that just part of your job, too?" The idea that she'd used sex to manipulate him made him sick to his stomach. "Being a handier for the CIA must cover a lot of territory." He'd hardly gotten the words out when she slapped him hard across the cheek.

"Go to hell!" Nicky rasped. "It wasn't like that."

"Why didn't you tell me the truth?" His expression was hard. He ignored the sharp sting of his cheek as he stepped closer and grabbed her upper arm intent on answers. She'd had access to his file and his apartment in Paris, what else did she know about him?

"Let go of me!" She twisted free. Angry and in pain, she was no longer the quietly controlled agent who had helped him in Spain and Africa. "When exactly was I supposed to tell you about us? That night you arrived at the Safe House confused and broken, ready to kill anyone in sight? You didn't know me and didn't want to. Or Berlin, how about Berlin, when all you wanted was to shove a gun in my face and terrorize me? You weren't about to listen to a thing I had to say and I was wearing a wire so I couldn't...couldn't...even try." Each time she believed she'd reached the limit of her endurance with him, he pushed her that much further. "Or Madrid and Tangier?" tears were blocking her throat making it hard to speak. "You didn't want to know. You made that clear. You shut me out. All you were interested in was the hunt and your goddamn revenge! How dare you come back into my life, wave a gun in my face, call me a whore and then demand answers!" Her temper shot through the roof and she attacked him with clenched fists. Two years of pent-up anger and loss spewed forth.

Something inside of him shifted as he caught sight of tears that made her cheeks glisten in the dark. She was right and it only added to the guilt and pain he was carrying. He pulled her into his arms as much to stop her flaying hands as to give comfort. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispered.

"Let me go," her voice hitched as she felt the familiar warmth of his body pressed against hers. "Please, let me go."

"Hush, Nicolette, I've got you," the words came from the past and seemed perfectly natural as he spoke them. He ran his left hand through her hair and buried her damp face against his neck. He recognized the feel of her skin and the seductive weight of her breasts against his chest. He knew what she sounded like when passion ripped through her and that she had a small mole below her left breast. The sudden flash of new memories made him flinch.

Nicky stiffened and pulled away as she felt Jason recoil. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" She turned away from him and lit the lamp on the small table. Her eyes automatically darted to each window to be sure the blackout drapes were pulled tight. Then she knelt to pick-up her weapon, making sure there were no signs of tears, before she turned and sat curled in the corner of the sofa.

"I don't know where that came from." He felt distracted, his mind out of sync with his body. To hide it, he sat on the edge of the couch with as much space between them as he could. He'd held her as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As much as he'd tried with Marie, it had never been like that. Each action had taken thought and now he knew why. He'd been searching for things that weren't there, familiar pale skin under his hands and a mole under the swell of her left breast. He'd been searching for the woman who sat shivering two feet away from him.

"It doesn't matter," she sighed not wanting to think about the two years that separated them and all that she'd lost in that time.

"It does!" He turned toward her, needing answers that left no doubts. "What were you to me that I'd try to find you and not even realize I was doing it?" She had been the reason he'd come here, he was sure of it, but he needed to hear her say it.

Her dark eyes looked into his and she knew that this time she wouldn't dodge the question. "We had an affair." She chose her words carefully to keep what little pride she had intact.

"I assumed as much, but…"

"It was a mistake, unprofessional and unwise, but we did it anyway." She held up her hand to keep him silent. "That's all I'm going to say about it tonight," her breath hitched and it took everything she had to keep from falling apart.

Jason looked her over carefully. The perceptive man finally saw dark circles under her eyes and how much thinner she was than she'd been in Tangier. "You look exhausted."

"I am. It's been a long few days. Truth be told, it's been a long few years." She reached over and wrapped her fingers around his. "It doesn't look as if it's been any easier on you."

"I could do with a good night's sleep." His gaze followed her hand up her arm until he met the dark depths of her eyes and she stared back, lost, unable to move. He knew he should pull away. He was a man who'd learned to be wary of touch, but he enjoyed the warmth of her small hand curled over his. He knew he should break eye contact. It was what he'd done with her in that café halfway between Madrid and Gibraltar, but something in her eyes wouldn't let him look away.

"Ahh…We…well…we're safe here, hidden, off the grid," she whispered. "You could get that sleep here." She quickly let go of his hand and scuttled back into her corner of the couch, putting some distance between them.

"I could," he nodded. "I still need to know what you know." He saw her shudder at his words but he had to get his life back. "I need to put all the pieces of the puzzle back together."

"I realize that, but we're both too tired to think straight." She stood and looked around the room unsure of what to do next. "Sleep on the couch tonight. We can make up the spare room tomorrow. I'll do what I can to help you remember."

"The couch would be great." He reached for her hand and turned her back toward him. "Nicky-"

"Please, not tonight." She tucked her Glock Compact into the back of her drawstring pajama bottoms.

"I was only going to ask if you carried that thing with you wherever you went." He nodded, with a slight smile, toward her weapon.

"Pretty much." She shrugged. "You taught me well."

"Me?" he questioned. It seemed out of character.

"Mmmhumm." She nodded. "I think I'd be dead if you hadn't." Nicky looked into the past and knew she was speaking the truth.

Jason's eyes clouded over and he pictured Marie as he'd last seen her, looking beautiful, fragile and very dead. The slow current had been carrying her body away from him. Why hadn't he taught her to survive? Why hadn't he made her learn to shoot and see danger behind every corner? The simple answer was that she'd refused all his efforts, but the more complicated one was what made the difference: Marie Kreutz had never really believed in the evils of the world, but somewhere along the line, Nicky Parsons had learned that lesson. It was why she was alive today and Marie wasn't.

"Jas-David," Nicky corrected quickly. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, sure, like you said, I'm done-in. I'll check the perimeter," his voice was cold and distant. She knew that whatever he'd been thinking about hadn't been pleasant.

"Thanks, that'd be great." She watched him walk stiffly away before she went to get him some bedding.

After he'd walked a quick circuit of the cottage, checked all the locks and reset the alarm system, he helped her make-up the coach. It felt familiar, almost second nature, to do all the little necessities of closing down a house before going to bed with Nicky close at hand.

"Oh, one other thing," she knew she sounded embarrassed, but figured embarrassed was better than dead. "I…ah…well…I sometimes have nightmares and insomnia…ahhh so please look before you shoot if you…well hear any strange noises."

"Yeah, well I've got the same problems, so same goes for you and that Compact you carry with you. If I taught you to use it, I assume you hit what you aim at."

"Yeah, I do." Nicky made it as far as her bedroom door when she turned back and looked into the living room. "You'll be here when I wake-up?"

"I will."

"Thank you," she whispered as she was swept with relief. Up until that very moment she hadn't realized how frightened she'd been or how safe he made her feel.

* * *

The next morning Nicky woke to the smell of coffee brewing and the sound of someone working on her front door.

"What are you doing?" She asked as she padded into the hallway wearing heavy socks, jeans and a long sleeved sweater. The days were getting warmer, but nights and mornings were still chilly.

"Fixing your security system." Jason sat cross-legged on the floor holding the plate that covered the lock in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. A mug of coffee was by his right knee. "It's a good system, but whoever put it in was careless. They left a wire showing. It was what alerted me to its presence and I was able to circumvent it last night."

"I'd wondered about that." She watched him work. It felt natural and right to have him there. "Have you eaten?"

"No, I wanted to get this taken care of first. I really should have done it last night." He tightened the last screw into place and sat leaning against the door. "Would you mind if I used your shower?" Jason caught the morning scents of a freshly bathed woman and he had a sudden flash of her naked body pressed against his as water streamed around them. He could feel her skin slick under his hands and mouth; hear soft high pitched moans as he braced her against a porcelain wall and drove her over the edge. With a shake of his head, he reached for his mug and drank coffee that had grown cold as he worked. It helped to wipe away the image and bring him back to the present.

"Are you all right?" She knelt beside him and laid her hand on his knee as she examined him carefully.

"Yeah…" his voice was husky with passion as he felt his body respond to the memory and her touch. "Yes, I just had a quick flash of…something…but it's gone now."

"What did you see?" She sat on the cold marble floor inches away from him. "Maybe it's something I can help you with."

"No…I…" He froze as he was filled with doubts. Was she playing games with him? Had the last few hours been some plot to manipulate him? He raised his head and looked her in the eyes. "It was the fragrance of your soap and shampoo that brought back the memory," he kept his words cold and controlled as he studied her response. "We were in the shower. Your skin glistened with water. I could hear your soft mewing as I pressed you against the wall and…."

"Stop, please stop," she cried out. Her breath hitched and she buried her face in her hands. "You were right. There is nothing I can do to help." Did this cold hard person who was keeping the man she'd once loved prisoner, expect her to follow him into the bathroom for a reenactment? She tried to rise, but plopped back onto the floor when he grabbed her arm.

"Last night I asked you what you were to me." He held on to her tightly. "I'm asking it again."

"We were lovers," she whispered as her insides broke apart. "I told you that."

"Yes, you did, but what else?" he probed.

"You gave me extra weapon's training and—"

"Stop evading my questions, damnit!" He cut her off. "That's not what I'm asking and you know it."

"But it was all part of it." She tried to pull her arm free, but he wouldn't let go. "You taught me so much, all the little things that would keep me alive. Things like the need for staying off the technological grid. That something as simple as a web address or cell phone could get me killed." She was hyperventilating and her words ran together as she tried to make him understand. "My God, Jas—ah…ah…David, it's because of you that Desh didn't catch up to me sooner in that ally in Tangier. You and I practiced escape and evade in countless cities and villages in Europe. I knew what to do to get away from him because you made certain that I learned!"

"How long did it – did we last?" he demanded. When she didn't answer him immediately, he shook her by the arm. "How long, Nicky?"

"Eighteen months," her throat was blocked with tears, she refused to give in to, and it made speaking difficult. "Then you went on that last mission and it all went to hell."

"Did I love you?" He needed to know. He'd already figured out his body had unknowingly yearned for hers, but had it been more than that? Was she the reason he hadn't been able to…to really love Marie? He'd always blamed it on their situation. The need to always watch their backs, always be ready to run. He'd told himself countless times that as long as he kept Marie at arm's length he could stay focused and keep them alive. But it hadn't been enough and she had paid the price!

"We never talked about that."

"Nicky, did I love you." He grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her closer to him. Their knees were locked together and her body was pressed against his. His actions weren't making sense. He didn't touch. He was a man of economy of movements, but he used every excuse he had, to put his hands on her, to feel her body next to his.

"I don't know," her voice cracked. "Please, Jason, I don't know!"

"I told you not to call me that! I'm not that man anymore."

"You certainly aren't the Jason Bourne I knew!" she hissed and braced her hands against his shoulders. "You've become the creation Alexander Conklin always dreamed of: cold, hard, unforgiving and totally focused. There isn't a human emotion left in you! If that is David Webb, you can damn well keep him. But be warned, there is no way in hell you can stay off the grid when you're like that, not if you're going to interact with people."

He watched her as she fought for control and won. Her eyes were dark and wet and filled with sorrow, but she didn't cry. It was as if she were mourning a deep loss… "You loved him, didn't you?" he accused.

"I loved _you_, back then." She remembered their last time together and it hurt. "My only regret has been that I never told you. I had the chance the morning you left on your last mission. I'm not sure it would have made any difference to you, but it would have to me."

"I can't…" He wished he remembered more than snatches of his life with her.

"I know." She smiled sadly. "Marie is who you remember. You loved her. I don't expect anything from you."

"It's more complicated than that!" He handed her back the tools he'd been using and shifted to stand. His grief and guilt were too great to talk about. "Look, I'll leave you in peace. I never should have come here."

"Wait, no. Please stay. What was between us is in the past. I won't bother you with it." She hoped she could keep her feelings hidden. He didn't need to know how much she still loved him. "We're both raw from the last two years. You've been hiding; unsure of whom you could trust. I've been looking over my shoulder; sure they were going to finally realize how much I knew and that I was a liability." She looked around the high-ceilinged entranceway and indicated the cottage. "It's safe here. We're hidden. Between the two of us, maybe, we can piece your memory back together."

"You really want me to stay?" He was tempted. She was right. They were safe. He didn't know how he knew it but he did. He was bone weary, she was right about that too.

"Yes, I do." She nodded. "Maybe if we find the answers that you're looking for we'll both have some closure."

"All right, then I guess…"

"There's one condition." She stepped closer to him needing some reassurance. "If you have to leave, for whatever reason, tell me, don't just disappear. I don't think I could go through that again. I won't question your decision or ask where you're going. I need you to promise…." For one small second she was standing in his kitchen in Paris. It was that last morning before he went away and everything changed.

"We've done this before,' he whispered. He couldn't take his eyes off hers, as his hands moved gently up her arms.

"Yes," she nodded. "Do you remember?"

"No, it just feels familiar."

"Okay, then." Nicky stepped back, giving herself space to breathe. "Don't force it. If your memory is going to come back it will."

"Tell me what I'm missing. Damnit, fill in the blanks."

"No, I can't." She shook her head sadly. "If I did that, it would be giving you my memories and interpretations of the past. You need yours."

"Just tell me everything that you know and we can go on from there." He was impatient. Too much of his life was a gaping hole. "You had access to my file. You have to tell me."

"You've got enough of a muddle going on inside your head. I don't want to add more confusion into the mix." Nicky reached for his hand uncertain if he'd allow her to touch him or not. "As you remember things, we'll talk and I'll verify them if I can. But I didn't know about David Webb. There was no mention of your prior life, with the exception of a short medical history."

"Is Webb a lie too?" He didn't believe that Pam Landy would have given him the information if it weren't true. She had nothing to gain, at the time, and a great deal to lose.

"I don't know. According to Daniels, part of the aim of your training was to reprogram a Treadstone agent's personality. Amnesia would help to maintain the new personality and none of you had memories of your pasts." She shook her head and frowned. "I think that Alexander Conklin used it to his advantage. The files I had access to, on all of you, only gave me the basics, nothing more. He believed that secrets were the key to control and control was power."

"You argued with him about that once…about his need for total control?" Jason had a vague memory of a male voice shouting while Nicky remained calm but firm.

"I never told you about that. How did you know?" It had been during her first week in Paris while she was still in the process of taking over from Conklin.

"It was the first time I'd met you. You were new to the program. I arrived early…I think?" he spoke haltingly willing the images that had been clear moments earlier to return. "Conklin was trying to bully you about something, but you wouldn't give in." The harder he tried to remember the faster the voices vanished. "It's gone, damnit!" He shook his head in frustration.

"It's all right. Give it time, give yourself time." She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "This is why you need your own memories and not mine. I had no idea you'd overheard that conversation."

"I guess you're right," he admitted grudgingly. "I do need to find my own way."

"You can do this. I'll help where I can." She smiled, as she stepped back. "It'll be easier together. Just don't force it, but when you do remember, try and be aware of what triggers it."

"You sound like a shrink when you talk like that." He glared unsure if he wanted anymore 'professional' help than he'd already received from Treadstone.

"I've a masters and PhD in psychology, so I guess I am."

"Did I know that before?" Every time he thought he could trust her, he learned something that made him doubt.

"Yes, you all knew. I never lied to any of you…Well," she grinned and suppressed a nervous giggle. "You and I did lie to Conklin and everyone else about…about us. But that had nothing to do with my job. Treadstone had five agents who were showing significant signs of psychosomatic problems. I was brought in to monitor and help. I'm still willing to do that job for you, but you have to believe in me or it won't work. You have to decide now what you're going to do."

He watched her carefully, assessing and reassessing everything he knew about her. "All right, I promise that when I need to leave, I'll tell you, I won't simply disappear."

"Okay, good." She smiled, happy for the first time in months. "Then I'll…ah…make some breakfast while you wash up." She couldn't believe it, he'd agreed to her one condition. It was his way of telling her he trusted her. "Oh, and about that flash of memory you had." She felt her cheeks turning pink, but she owed him a show of trust in return. "What did the shower look like? Was it the one in your apartment?"

"It wasn't Paris." He closed his eyes and concentrated on the memory of his surroundings rather than the feel of the woman in his arms. "The bathroom was too small and ornate."

"Double shower stall or clawfoot tub?" she whispered.

"Double stall." His lips twitched and he had to fight to keep from smiling.

"It was a B&B in the Pyrenees, Spanish side, I think."

"You think?" He grinned and couldn't suppress a chuckle. "I gather we had an affinity for sex in the shower?"

"That is something you're going to have to remember all on your own!" Her chin rose and she turned and headed toward the kitchen. She was damned if she was going to tell him that they'd had an _affinity_ for making love anywhere they could.

* * *

That afternoon they opened up one of the spare bedrooms and he moved his few belongings from his campsite above the plateau. Neither wanted a repeat of the night he'd arrived, when weapons had been drawn and tempers had flared so, in an unspoken agreement, both slept with their doors open.

* * *

Three nights later Jason woke from a disorienting dream, his first since arriving in Positano. There had been flashes of light, Conklin shouting, weapon's fire and blood splattered everywhere. He gasped for breath as he rolled from bed, his heart pounding.

After checking all the locks and the security system, he sat on the sofa in the living room with his head thrown back as he listened for anything that was out of place. His Glock held ready, just in case.

"Jason?" Nicky whispered as she walked slowly into the living room, lowering her Compact as she realized what had awakened her. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah." He shrugged. "I had a nightmare. Sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you." He felt the couch shift as she sat beside him.

"It's okay. How come you didn't point that thing at me?" She smiled and nodded toward his right hand, which still held his weapon. "I'm quiet, but I know you must have heard me."

"I recognized the sound of your tread."

"Oh," she sighed. "I'll have to learn that trick." She pulled her legs up under her and turned toward him so she could rest her head on her hand on the back of the sofa.

"You staying up?" He looked at her, inches away from him and dreaded what was coming..

"If you don't mind?" her voice was still slurred from sleep.

"No, I'd like the company." He frowned, surprised by his answer. He didn't want to hunt for the significance of the memories that had been dredged up in his sleep and then dissect them as if it were a therapy session.

"What's the matter?"

"Aren't you going to ask me about my dream?" He was used to Marie's insistent questions when he woke in the middle of the night.

"Not unless you want me to." She saw doubt flicker across his face and he seemed to pull away from her eventhough he hadn't moved a muscle. "Jason," she murmured as she placed her hand on the sharp plane of his cheek and ran her thumb under his lower lip. "I didn't mean to hurt you by not asking. I'm interested, and will listen to anything you want to tell me, but I'm never going to push you."

"It's not anything you did." His fingers moved over her arm until his hand covered hers, resting on his cheek. The relief that he felt because she wasn't going to prod and poke when all he wanted was peace and quiet to let his thoughts settle, seemed like an insult to Marie and all she'd helped him accomplish.

"I…ah…" Nicky stuttered when she saw his eyes fill with naked pain. She'd touched a nerve and she was sure it had to do with Marie. "You're used to doing things differently, aren't you?" she asked as gently as possible, ignoring the hurt that welled up inside of her. She was caught in a love triangle with a dead woman. It sounded like something out of a bad romance novel, but unlike those books her grandmother had been so fond of, there wasn't going to be a happy ending for this heroine.

"I can't talk about it."

"I shouldn't have asked. I'm sorry." As her hand began to tremble under his, she tried to pull away before he felt her distress. She'd forgotten how quick and perceptive he was.

"Nicky, someday we're gonna have that conversation, but not now, not tonight." He took her hand in both of his and wouldn't let go. "You're shaking."

"I know," her voice broke and she took a deep breath.

"Do you still want to stay up with me?" He needed her quiet presence, but wouldn't ask.

"Yes, unless you want to be alone." She'd had her share of night terrors in the last two years and there were times when she'd have given almost anything to have him sitting beside her, to help her panic recede and reality returned.

"I've been alone for too long." He reached for the throw on the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into his arms. "Sleep now, I've got you Nicolette."

When he called her that, she wanted to ask him to never let her go. Instead she silently reminded herself of what she'd known all along: he was a self-sufficient man who didn't need anyone. One day he would walk out of her life and when that happened, she didn't think he'd ever return. She was damned if she'd waste what precious time she had with him wishing things could be different. So she left her head on his shoulder and let his scent surround her as she spoke the only truth she could, "You make me feel safe."

"You do the same for me." He rested his cheek against her hair and fell asleep to the sound of her even breathing.

That night set a pattern. Whenever he couldn't sleep or was haunted by nightmares, she would meet him in the neutral territory of the living room. It was always quiet and they fell asleep clinging to one another, within a few minutes of her arrival. It wasn't sexual, though with the smallest move on either's part, it could have turned that way.

Their days had no real pattern except they always started by running one of the mountain trails behind the olive grove or working out in the weight room someone had installed behind the wine cellar. The rest of their waking hours were spent living quietly, doing laundry, shopping, fixing meals and reading. Every so often Jason would try to dig into the wealth of knowledge he was sure Nicky possessed about his past, but she blocked his every attempt.

"Ja—David," she rolled her eyes at her error thankful he ignored it. "I told you before you need to give yourself time. Stop pushing for my memories, they won't help you." She poured whipped eggs into a hot omelet pan and put her bowl and whisk aside on the counter. "Besides you need sleep, the kind that allows you to really rest. You've had nightmares three of the last five nights. You're brain requires more REM sleep than it's getting. Unfortunately dreams occur during REM and the ones you're having are so bad that they're waking up. How long has it been since you've had three straight nights of uninterrupted sleep?"

"I don't know," he sighed in frustration as he scooped freshly ground coffee into the filter. "I can't remember if I've ever been able to sleep like that."

"Take it from me, you have."

"Ahhh and I supposed that was because you were right there beside me," he responded cynically with a touch of anger. It bothered him that when he'd wake-up on the couch with her in his arms he felt intense tender desire that was both frightening and natural. That first morning and each morning it happened, he'd told himself it was because he'd been so long without a woman, but he knew it was lie. As close as he and Marie had been, he'd never reached for her in the night, like that. It had never calmed his sleep to hold her in his arms!

"No, Jason, that isn't how I know." Nicky met his cold glare with calm professionalism. "I was your handier as well as your…ah…lover. If there was something wrong with you I would have known about it." But as she said the words, she shivered. She'd run headlong into doubts and guilt that had been eating at her for two years. "But I…didn't…"

"Nic, what's wrong." He heard the change in her voice and it put him on alert.

"Nothing…I…ah…I didn't know." She was shaking and looked stricken. "Oh God, Jason, I missed it!" She closed her eyes and fought for a shred of professional armor, but it was a losing battle.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Fear bit at him, as the color completely blanched from her face.

"I should have seen it." She blinked looking off into the distance, unaware that she'd brushed within an inch of a hot pan.

"Easy does it, Babe." He was beside her in three quick steps and pulled her tightly against his side. He took a moment to move the skillet off the stove and turn off the flames before he guided her to a chair. "What happened? What did you miss?" When all she did was shake her head, he knelt in front of her and cupped her cheeks to make her look him in the eyes. "Do we need to run, have we been compromised?"

"No, we're safe," she gasped.

"You're sure?" He felt the comforting weight of his weapon in a shoulder holster he wore around the house.

"As sure as I can be," her voice cracked and sounded strange, but he believed her.

"Then what...please Nicky, talk to me."

"I can't," she whispered as she wrapped her hands around his wrists. "It's too soon, you need…"

"Stop, just stop it! You need to tell me what's eating you and I need to hear it."

She bit her lip hard and concentrated on the pain to keep from crying. He was going to hate her when he knew the truth, but she had to tell him. "During those last weeks in Paris, you must have been coming apart. You needed me to be a professional, to act as your handier, but I was too busy loving you to do my job." There she'd said it, now he knew how badly she'd failed him.

"No, no, it wasn't like that!"

"Yes it was! I just didn't want to see it." She shook her head wanting to deny the past, but was unable to.

"Was I acting differently, Nicky?" he insisted. "What do you know?"

"I told you before, we aren't going to talk about this. You need to remember on your own.

"This isn't about my memories but yours."

"It's not that easy, they're all mix up together. Please, Jason, I don't want to fail you again," she whispered.

"You won't fail me and I don't believe you did two years ago." He didn't know where the certainty came from, but he felt it to the bottom of his soul. "Tell me what you know, what you observed, that's all I'm asking."

"All right," she whispered as she stood and wiped at her damp eyes. "Okay, but this may take us a while. You finish making coffee and I'll cut up the rest of the fruit. You'll need something to eat while we do this."

Ten minutes later they were sitting in the living room. Nicky was curled in a large arm chair warming her hands on a cup of coffee and Jason was sitting stiffly on the sofa. His coffee sat beside a plate of neatly cut apples, grapes, and oranges on the end table that separated them.

"The first thing that was different about your last mission was that it didn't come through me." She jumped right in; afraid she'd lose her nerve if she put it off any longer. "Up until that time all the missions had been passed through the Safe House. They were usually coded, but not always."

"Had any of the others had assignments that didn't come from you?" He felt a dull ache behind his eyes and realized it was the beginning of the first headache he'd had since New York.

"I can't be sure, but thinking back on it, I believe that Castel in Rome and the Professor in Barcelona may each have been given jobs from another source. The first year I was working for Treadstone, Castel was out of touch for over three weeks. When I became aware of it, I followed protocol and contacted Conklin. He told me it was covered and not to ask questions. The same thing happened with the Professor a few months later. I was still very new and didn't know what to think. Then nothing out of the ordinary happened for almost two years."

"Go on," he encouraged.

"I knew you were preparing for a mission some distance away, probably even out of France. You were gone over night, four times in eight weeks." She took a gulp of coffee as the memories came back. "The only reason I knew that you were out of town was because we were…well…together."

"Did I tell you anything about what I was doing?" He wanted desperately to remember what led up to his failed assignment, but he only had flashes from two years ago. The most intense were from when he'd faced down Alexander Conklin.

"No," she shook her head. "It always bothered you that I knew more than I would have, if I were simply Treadstone's handier and logistics contact. You worried that if they ever found out how much I knowledge I had, they'd come after me."

"I was right to worry. You do know too much, but, right now, I'm hoping you know more, because I need to hear about it."

"That last morning you were different." She was looking into the past and could see it as if it were happening all over again. "Usually before a mission you'd wake totally focused on what was ahead. You'd recite a list of all the things you'd been teaching me about staying safe, things like, if you're on the run, never fly because, they'll have no compunction about taking down an entire airplane of people to get the one person they really want." She shuddered at the thought. Crashing planes meant New York City and the radical change they had caused in her life. They had nothing to do with Paris. "You'd remind me to always police my brass, to shoot and then toss away my unmarked weapon. The list usually went on and on, all through breakfast."

"But not that morning?" He leaned forward in his chair, almost touching her, as she remembered the past. He wanted desperately to see clearly what she was seeing, but he couldn't, all he could do was listen and hope it triggered a memory of his own.

"No, not that morning, instead you made me tell you what I'd learned. You needed to know that I really did understand the importance of all the things you'd been teaching me. Then you made a joke about my eidetic memory and…" Her eyes flutter shut as she remembered his hands on her body.

"And what, Nicky?" he demanded. "What aren't you telling me?"

"We made love," she sighed and held up her hand to forestall his questions. "It was something you never did on the morning you'd leave on a mission. You would wake up…different, more focused, colder, your mind already on where you were going and what you had to do, but not that morning. You…we…" She took a moment to collect her emotions before she went on. "Part of me was convinced you were saying good-bye. I even made you promise that if you had to go away for any reason, you wouldn't simply disappear and let me think you were dead." She tried to smile as she shook off the memories and deep feelings. "You kept your promise, twice; first by storming the Safe House before you disappeared. Then last January I sat in Palma, Majorca watching a newscast, which announced that you'd fallen ten stories into the East River, but your body hadn't been found. I knew you were alive and somehow had found a way to keep your promise."

"It was Landy who helped me get that message out, but I didn't know why I needed to do it." He shook his head wanting to deny it, but it made perfect sense. "I'm sorry but I don't remember anything from that morning in Paris."

"I know that now, but when you first arrived, I thought you'd remembered everything." She picked up her coffee and drank slowly. It tasted cold and bitter the way her life had been for a very long time. "I still don't understand how you knew to come here."

"I dreamt about it." He shrugged and looked sheepish. He knew it made no sense and went against all of his training. "I hoped I'd find a key to my past here, and I did. I found you."

"You found more than that. You found your escape plan. This cottage and land belongs to you." She got up and brought back the documents she'd found in her safety deposit box in Rome. "I didn't know about it until a few weeks ago…" She shrugged her shoulders, unsure of what else to say.

He looked quickly at a birth certificate for Colette Jeanne Marquette; a marriage license for Colette and Jean-Paul Benoit; a copy of the deed to the property in Positano; Jean-Paul's death certificate and various other papers that outlined an online cash transaction between Monsieur Benoit and Senore Cantinni, selling a small slice of the much lager estate west of their plateau. The date of the purchase was just over four years ago. He quickly did the math, eighteen months with Nicky in Paris, two years on the run, another five months since Marie was killed last November. He must have found and bought the property a few months after he began his affair with Nicky Parsons.

"I had a lock box in Rome. It contained the identities I'd built for myself over the years. When I opened it in March, I found those papers. You'd created a life for me and a safe place to hide. You had even given me cash to make it all happen. There was a note. I recognized your handwriting. It was dated exactly a week before you left on the Wombosi mission. You must have written it while away doing prep work for that assignment," her voice broke. "This is why I don't want to talk about the past unless you have specific questions! All it does is bring up more questions, none of which I can answer. I don't know why you did any of this and neither do you!"

"I obviously wanted you to have somewhere you'd be safe," he muttered not wanting to think about how different his life with Marie might have been if he'd had a pre-arranged place to hide and identities that were solidly set-up long before he needed them. "Where's the note?"

"I burned it." It was simple to say, but it had been very difficult for her to do. She'd cried as the paper charred and went up in smoke.

"Good, if you knew my writing, then so would others. It was smart to get rid of a link like that." He could see she was in pain, but had his own to deal with. She was right, looking back at unanswerable questions only added to his confusion. "What did the note say?"

"No, I said no more and meant it," she insisted. "You don't remember writing it. You don't remember anything about that time. I'm not answering anymore questions that only lead you to more doubts!"

"Nicky, I'm not going to take the cottage from you. It's yours, I wanted you to have it, or I wouldn't have bought it in the names of Jean-Paul and Colette Benoit and then given you Jean-Paul's death certificate." It was hard to sound reasonable when his insides were churning with misgivings. Had he meant for them to go into hiding together? Had the death certificate only been a precaution? Had he loved her that much? Was everything that happened with Marie a mistake? The headache that had begun as a dull pain behind his eyes pounded in direct proportion to his uncertainties. "I need some fresh air," he growled.

"I wasn't talking about this house or the land," she sighed, but was speaking to his back as he headed out the door. "We'll figure all of that out when the time-" The door slammed and she was left alone, talking to thin air, "-comes for one of us to leave."

* * *

That night it was Nicky who woke drenched in sweat and screaming. Her nightmares had returned and they were worse than ever. Jason led her blindly into the living room, and for the first time in years, she left her Glock under her pillow. He pulled her down beside him on the couch and held her tightly as visions of explosions and smoke cleared from her mind.

"I'm all right, really I am," she argued and tried to get up and return to bed.

"No you're not, anymore than I've been on any of the nights you've stayed and kept me company." With a deft movement he flipped her around until she was laying full length, pressed tightly between the back of the sofa and his warm body.

"This is supposed to be about you, not me." She strained against him to get up, but he only held her closer.

"No, it's not. It's about both of us." He grazed her forehead with his nose and her scent filled his nostrils. His body responded to the woman in his arms.

"Jason, this isn't a good idea," her words were hoarse with desire. She felt him pressing against her abdomen and remembered exactly what it was like to have him buried deep inside of her. Her breasts responded and her nipples hardened against his bare chest. She took one quick moment to be thankful he'd either taken the time to pull on pajama bottoms or that he slept in more than he used to.

"I've got you Nicolette, hush now, I've got you," he whispered and stroked her back with a hand that shook slightly. He wrapped his leg around both of hers and pulled her closer to him. They both groaned and shook on contact. "Just let me hold you."

Her body trembled against his, but she looked up into the intense blue of his eyes with trust. She knew that she was safe, safe from dangers from the outside and safe from him as well. She nodded almost imperceptivity, but he felt her movement and sighed.

"Sleep now, everything will look better in the morning." Once more he stroked her skin under the men's Henley she wore as a pajama top and then carefully he pulled it back into place. His lips twitched slightly when he realized that the old green shirt had belonged to him once long ago. With that knowledge, came a flash of memory. He saw Nicky with long blonde hair as she came apart into a million pieces under his hands. If she hadn't been lying so trustingly in his arms, the mental picture would have been too much for him. As it was, it was a close call.

Jason lay awake for a long time as Nicky's breathing slowed and she fell asleep. They'd walked very close to the edge tonight and he knew it was dangerous. In a flash of insight he realized it was the mistake he'd made with Marie. He'd jumped headlong into her bed without any memory of his past. He'd desired her, but he knew it was a washed out shadow of what he felt for the woman who slept in his arms. Had he been unable to love Marie because he already loved Nicolette Parsons? Had his mind forgotten her, but his emotions remembered?

'What nonsense,' he shook his head. He wasn't a man who thought like that, at least not the man he'd been during the last two years, his mind scoffed. His memories of David Webb weren't much help. They were cloudy at best and all of them of a younger, more idealistic person, who had no real bearing on who he was now. But he kept going back to two facts. First he'd taken the time and spent the money to be sure Nicky was safe if he wasn't around. More importantly he had a warm scantily clad woman pressed against him. He desired her to the point of physical pain, and he knew it would have taken only the slightest nudge on his part and they would have spent the night relieving that desire over and over again. Maybe it wasn't such nonsense after all?

**To Be Continued**


End file.
